


Bucky Barnes, Literal Catastrophe

by LightningStriking



Series: The Adventures of Buckitty [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Ball Of Fluff And Rage, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Is Literally The Cutest Thing Ever, Bucky Isn't Coordinated With 4 Legs, Feels, First Kiss, First Time, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Good Guy Tony Stark, Happy Ending, Hydra (Marvel), Kitten Antics, Kittens Have Sharp Claws, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, Loving Dom Steve, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Shapeshifting, Sleepy Cuddles, Steve Saves Bucky, Stucky - Freeform, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, kitten bucky, petting, unbearable cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-01 17:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking/pseuds/LightningStriking
Summary: When Hydra forcibly returns Bucky to their ranks following the helicarrier crash, Steve will do anything to find his friend, and free him once and for all.  Yet when Hydra takes drastic action, altering Bucky in hopes of keeping their Asset hidden from Captain America, Steve is confronted with a Bucky he's never seen before.  Can Steve help Bucky return to the man he was, and in doing so, find the love he's been missing for seventy years?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovely readers! So... I have no excuse for this. Other than, Kitten Bucky is literally the cutest idea that has ever popped into my mind, and once it appeared, it just would NOT be shaken. That said, I hope you enjoy this tail (wink wink) of feels and fluff and eventual happy ever afters for everyone!

“He’s not here. He’s supposed to be here, Nat.” Steve’s voice sounded calm, contained, as he visually swept the small, subterranean room once more, even as Nat slid in behind him, handgun held aloft. No one would have known he was fraying at the seams, would have guessed the tension hiding in that always strong voice. No one, save a spy who not only survived by reading people, but considered Steve one of her only friends. One who had never let her down once – and she vowed to do the same.

            Rather than verbally confirming what both their eyes saw to be true, she pressed the button on her ear piece. “Stark?”

            “He’s supposed to be here,” Steve spoke quietly to himself now, and that more than anything else alerted Natasha just how close he was to the edge. One he’d been approaching for months now. Months – the amount of time it had taken to confirm that after the events on the crashing helicarrier, Bucky had apparently gone his own way, until he’d been apprehended by Hydra. Who, all intel indicated, had brought him here. Intel that had been hard won, Steve burning each Hydra base to the ground in his relentless search for Bucky. Watching as Steve now slowly moved towards the empty chair that didn’t pretend to be anything other than the torture device it was, her voice grew more urgent.

            “Stark, you got anything?” The genius had hacked into the bunkers systems with his oh so handy traveling Jarvis, and had been directing them through it via the comms.

            Yet it was Tony’s responding words, his tone unusually tight and serious, that had her guard going up enough for her to lift back up the gun she’s let fall to her side. “Do you see a cage?”

            Steve and Natasha turned as one, both glancing at the cage they’d dismissed in their initial sweep. After all, a box so small could hardly fit the Winter Soldier, who after seventy years of experimentation and enhancements was bulkier now than even Steve. However at Tony’s words, they both approached it with a caution that might seem laughable to someone who wasn’t intimately familiar with just how devious, and unexpectedly lethal Hydra could be. Neither one knowing what to expect. Yet the sight that met their gaze in the small yet intensely fortified cage was one neither would have predicted.

            “Uh, Tony-” Natasha began.

            “There’s a, uh… a cat in there, correct?”

            A kitten, to be more accurate. The tiny fluff ball lay on its side, breaths shallow as it seemed oblivious to the audience it had. Until Natasha spoke once more, “Yes-”. At which point it opened its eyes. Its gaze was a startling ice blue that was gorgeous – and unmistakable.

            Natasha swore impressively at length, in all the languages she knew, which were numerous. For once, no one made a crack about language, the familiar joke one that always managed to be at Steve’s expense. Steve, for once, didn’t even seem to hear her.

            “…Bucky?” he managed at last. Voice cracking in shock, his disbelief was now naked for anyone to hear.

            “I’m afraid at this current time, Buckitty might be a more accurate name,” Tony responded. Natasha wanted to fire off at him immediately for his insensitivity, yet there was no humor in his voice. Only a quiet understanding for Steve, who once again, found himself falling towards something he could not avoid, and had no hope of wrapping his mind around before the hit.

            Holstering her gun, Natasha chanced laying a hand on Steve, feeling a now familiar pang of sympathy in her heart when he flinched before turning to stare at her, eyes wide and devastated. And she realized, once again, they had underestimated just what Hydra was capable of.

 

 

Bucky was having a horrific day. Possibly the worst yet, which was saying something considering the last seven decades of his life had been spent enduring every agony, physical and mental, a soul could bear before it was no longer a soul at all. A soul… something he was no longer certain he possessed. Something he no longer was certain he could comprehend, even if he did. After all he’d done, he no longer thought he deserved one. Because while Bucky may not have a soul, the one thing that had returned to him were his memories. And it was all because of Steve.

            Just seeing the man that he would never have picked out a crowd had shattered something – cracking the impenetrable ice that had surrounded Bucky’s mind for seventy frozen years. Enough so that despite the procedures meant to wipe away all that was Bucky, and leave nothing but the soldier behind, seeing Steve once more had been enough for Bucky to remember _something_. Not even Steve truly. Perhaps nothing more than an instinct. But it had been strong, more powerful than anything he could recall experiencing, and it had demanded he not complete his mission. That he save it instead.

            To a man who had spent as long as he could literally remember feeling nothing, it had terrified him, nearly as much as it had beckoned him to dig deeper, to risk reaching through the jagged, sharp pieces of his mind and try to pull out what was inside. He’d fled, after making sure the Mission, the Mission, _just a mission_ , still breathed. At which point he’d simply existed, trying to make sense of the memories that were now starting to emerge, no longer regularly suppressed by Hydra’s techniques which had never been able to fully _erase_ them but only bury them. It had hurt.

            It hurt to recall who he had been, a man who was more a stranger to whatever he was now than anyone he walked past on the street. It hurt to remember what it was he’d felt for Steve, when even now just _feeling_ left him reeling from the intense impact he no longer had the tools with which to deal. It hurt to remember Steve, as he had been, as he was now, and the way those sky blue eyes had never stopped looking at him just the same way, no matter the damage Bucky had inflicted upon him. Willingly standing before a gun when Bucky pulled the trigger.

            Yet there was more than just memories of two men he no longer knew how to communicate with or be. There was everyone else – every last one of his missions. And God – the thought of Steve, of _Steve_ being reduced to nothing more than that had horror drowning him in waves. That had been the first emotion to come back – perhaps because he’d had the most experience with it. For decades, he’d known nothing but horror, until Hydra had managed to bury even that, and he’d had nothing left but orders to obey, no will left to resist. Now, comprehending what Steve meant to him, and what the two of them had become – one a hero, the other a monster – there was no way he’d been willing to risk seeing Steve once more. He was afraid of what any leftover conditioning within him might do to Steve. And afraid of what Steve would do to him. Bucky’s heart, this fragile, shattered, frozen thing – it could take no more pain.

            Then Hydra had captured him once more. His carelessness in letting them get to him was unforgivable, but he’d been so disoriented, it had been a struggle simply to feed himself. So the ghost, the master assassin, the right hand of Hydra, had become a shamefully easy target. Once they had him, he had nearly resigned himself to it. The part of him that might just remember what hope was, hoped they would end him and be done with it, at last. But the rest of him that knew he was worth too much to them, and simply accepted he would be wiped, one more time. Crying deep inside that shattered heart that still, somehow, beat for Steve, he embraced the idea of numbness. After all, just how much pain could one body take? He didn’t want to know.

            Yet the pain he’d expected by being erased - because God, it hurt every time - never came. Instead of the blank slate, the lethal assassin, the Winter Soldier, they turned him into something else. Something he never would have thought possible. He’d thought he’d known what it was to have his bodily autonomy taken away. But he’d never once considered they could take his _body_ away. Until they’d done just that.

            Bucky didn’t know if it was science, or magic, or some other possibility, because nothing he’d ever encountered could explain what they’d done to him. However they’d accomplished it, they’d been gleeful, certain the Captain America who had been such a lethal thorn in their sides, picking off their numbers one by one, would never recognize Bucky now. Meaning they’d have all the time in the world to wipe him of all memories once more. And then, once he’d been broken, a thoughtless robot ready to comply with their bidding, his stealth abilities would be unparalleled.

            Bucky had only vaguely caught their plan, too overwhelmed by the physical changes that had overcome him. Hearing that made everything in the concrete bunker painfully loud. Acute sense of smell that assaulted him the with unwashed scent of evil that had been absorbed into the walls. Vision that confused him, sent his head throbbing. All within a body so small, the tiny heart within him beat in instinctual terror every moment he was conscious. But from what he’d understood, he’d known they were right. No one would ever think to look for him like… this.

            The transformation process had been excruciating. Each subsequent switch was only slightly less so. Yet they forced him to do it, again and again and again, the process one he controlled – though of course control was only an illusion for one in the hands of Hydra – because they wanted the shift to become one he could do swiftly, and silently. After all, an assassin could not use a smaller form to his advantage if he screamed in agony each time it overtook him. His last shift into the smaller body that was not his own, but he felt pain in each cell of, had left him trembling, unable to stand anymore of tiny feet that were already unsteady. But he’d expected the demands to continue.

            Until he’d been unceremoniously shoved into a cage. His cage, which he had been advised against attempting to shift in. He might have tried to do it anyways, had they not demonstrated the strength of the bars which would have snapped his bones had he resumed his normal mass. And as ready as he was for it to end, he could not force himself to do it so painfully. Not after all the pain he’d already endured. So he’d simply accepted the unexpected reprieve, bracing himself for when it would undoubtedly continue. Now though, blinking up into those eyes that for the briefest moment made him wonder if he was seeing the sky once more, he realized they’d all made a mistake. Steve had not only come for him – Steve _recognized_ him. Shit.

 

Visual Reference - Buckitty!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the feels, I know... But from here on out, things will only get better! As always, I've you're enjoying this fic thus far I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Rubbing his hands over his face, before leaving them pressed there for an immeasurable length of time, Steve at last looked up at the holographic screen illuminating the wall of his living room on his personal floor of the Avengers tower. The instant he’d pulled himself together enough to grab the cage, and so carefully carry it to the quinjet, he’d demanded they return to the tower. To safety. To a place where he could protect Bucky, who, lying so still within the cage, looked more fragile than ever. Petrified Bucky had quit breathing altogether, Steve had kept his hand pressed to the cold metal bars, comforting himself in each tiny little puff of air that brushed his skin. Each one was a reassurance that Bucky, no matter what form he took, was alive. Was here. That was enough for now.

            Especially when, upon take off, he’d gritted out to Clint, “Bomb it.” Clint had raised a brow at Nat sitting beside him in the co-pilot seat, before tossing a look over his shoulder at Tony. Tony had nodded.

            “Jarvis has everything we need.” Clint hadn’t wasted another moment before releasing the explosives, each hit lighting up the sky behind them in a violent display. As they flew back to the tower with a speed Steve knew was edging beyond what was safe, he was brutally thankful for friends who asked no questions. That is, until he ran in a blur of speed to the safety of his room, and immediately had Jarvis summon Bruce to his quarters. By the time everyone, Bruce included, had made it to his floor, the air had been full of protests. That Steve couldn’t just let out a known assassin free to wander the tower, particularly when razor sharp claws used the right way could be just as effective as knives. (Steve didn’t even acknowledge Tony on that one.) That they didn’t even have a litter box. (Thanks, Clint.) That “I’m really not this kind of doctor, and I sure as hell am not a vet, what am I even supposed to be looking for, Steve?” Steve didn’t care – vet or not, Bruce was a genius, one who had given in to Steve’s silent plea, and had checked out the kitten after Tony huffed, muttered, and griped as he complied enough to crack open the cage.

            Steve had hovered as Bruce looked the tiny kitten – his best friend, Jesus, he could hardly wrap his mind around it, that he’d finally found Bucky at last – each of the Avengers lingering to watch for their own reasons. Steve was certain a more volatile individual would have punched him in the face at least once to get him to back off, given that he was practically ameba-ing himself onto Bruce in his anxiety to know that regardless of his form, Bucky was _okay_ , yet Bruce was calm as ever as he examined the unconscious kitten. Once Bruce had declared Bucky seemed to be physically healthy, if clearly exhausted, Steve had nearly deflated in sheer relief, before barring everyone from his floor, more than surprised when Natasha sided with him and cleared everyone out – though only after kitten proofing all the vents and windows. “No point taking the chance of losing him again,” she’s murmured, and Steve had been flooded with an overwhelming wave of gratitude.

            He’d understood their concern, and could even acknowledge giving the man who had attempted to kill him more than once free rein of the space, no matter his shape, was a questionable decision. But Steve knew it didn’t matter. Bucky had been caged enough. Steve would never force such a thing on him again. Nor would he add to the stress Bucky would experience by having the entire team present when he woke, each one full of opinions about the situation, and Bucky himself.

            Still, Steve knew he needed his team, his _friends_ , now more than ever and so he sat in conference call with them all, trying to wrap his mind around the complex things Tony swore he was saying in plain English. Pressing his fingers to his temples, Steve glanced down at the little fluff ball he had gently wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, and put in the chair across from him – close enough to watch but hopefully not so close as to scare Bucky when he woke – then glanced back up at the screen. “So, you’re saying they recorded everything they did to Bucky?”

            “Nazi bastards they may be, but they are meticulous note keepers. Jarvis is currently translating it all, cause there’s a shit ton-” Steve couldn’t help the flinch at the reminder of just how much Bucky had suffered, but everyone else was kind enough to pretend they didn’t notice. “But from what I’ve skimmed through so far, yes, it looks like it’s all there.”

            Biting his lip, a million questions swirling inside him, Steve realized only two truly mattered. “Is he… is he still in there?”

            When Tony pointed his finger to the ceiling in a go ahead gesture, Jarvis’s cultured tones filled the air. “From what the records show so far, it appears in his time away from Hydra, Sergeant Barnes had regained most, if not all of his memory. Once they had captured him again-” Another flinch, more violent than the last. “- Hydra did not repeat any of their memory altering procedures. Instead, focusing all their time it seems, on enacting his physical transformation. While in Felis Domesticus form, Sergeant Barnes was able to understand and respond to commands. All present data indicates that while as a feline, he still has full control of his facilities, and his memories.”

            Steve shoved a hand through his hair, relief warring with something that tasted familiarly, horribly like guilt. Grateful that Bucky was still there. Again. Despite all Bucky had suffered, Steve was selfishly so fucking grateful Bucky was still there. Christ, he was a monster. But it was a title he’d have to accept, when he’d let nothing and no one take Bucky from him now.

            Which only left one question. “Can it be reversed?”

            Tony this time, the look of compassion on his face hurting Steve in all new ways. For the man who had suffered so much to wear that look of sympathy for Steve… it could not be good. “The process that caused him to have the ability to transform seems to be irreversible.” Before Steve could fully accept the weight of the answer which crushed the air from his lungs, Tony was quick to continue. “They do have video recordings of him transforming back and forth numerous times. It isn’t… pleasant, I gather. But he can move between shapes at will. So for now, all I can guess is, he’ll do it when he’s ready.”

            Nodding, the weight of the horrific relief only increasing, Steve cleared his throat.  Shifting would hurt Bucky _again_ , and still Steve was glad for it. “Thank you. All of you. For… everything.” A simple word that encompassed so much – the time, effort, sweat and blood they’d spent, joining Steve on his never ending hunt for Bucky. The unwavering support they’d provided, even when to the outside world, Bucky may appear nothing more than a criminal. The knowledge they’d always have his back. It meant more than he could say.

            Switching off the screen before he could break down in tears at their collective, gentle looks of understanding - and fuck if even Clint could wear that expression it was just too much - Steve leaned forward, hands folded beneath his chin while he watched the nearly imperceptible motion as Bucky breathed in, and breathed out. Okay. Time. He could give Bucky all the time he needed. After all, Steve had seventy years of stolen time to make up for. And he would – starting now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for protective Steve! You can bet he's going to take better care of Buckitty than any kitten in the history of ever has experienced. On to the fluffy cuteness! (I promise, this story won't JUST be feels) As always, I love hearing from you if you like what you've read :D


	3. Chapter 3

When Bucky woke, for the first time in decades it was with some measure of confusion. Waking had inevitably involved pain, which only grew the longer he was conscious. Until he’d been forced to accept that existing was pain. Yet as a dream slid gently away from him, consciousness softly welcoming him, the only thing he felt was _warm_.

            Snuggling into the softness that surrounded him, Bucky drifted, until he at last began to register something beyond the gorgeous heat that held him more kindly than the cold ever had. Deep, slow breathing pricked at him, and it was both the noise and the sensation of his ears actively _moving_ in response that jarred him abruptly from his drifting state. Jolting, Bucky struggled to free himself from what he now realized was a blanket practically burying him in fuzzy delightfulness, the sheer unexpected nature of it all sending his heart pounding.

            By the time he’d fought his way out of its stubborn embrace, that a fairly large percentage of his body didn’t _want_ to escape, he controlled his breath through sheer will as he quickly took in his surroundings. Unfamiliar, though plush accommodations met his gaze, the various ridiculously comfortable looking furniture, and vaguely frighteningly looking high-tech entertainment equipment indicating he was in a living room. One that he was certain he’d never been in… Well, as certain as he could be of anything.

            Then his eyes fell upon the source of the breathing that had stirred him, and he felt the heart that raced out of control inside the body that felt all wrong nearly stop. _Steve_.

            All in a rush, he recalled the experiment, as he at last looked down at his feet. Scratch that – his paws. Shit. He remembered how he’d woken up to the vivid blue of Steve’s blue eyes, wide and as shocked as Bucky had felt. They’d told him Steve was searching for him. Some part of him, some weak, utterly broken part had wished Steve could do the impossible and find him. But the rest of him knew that the man he’d always known deserved so much more than the twisted creature Bucky had become, and hoped that Steve never did.

            Yet Steve had. Just like every other undertaking the blond had taken on in life, through grit and sheer will alone, Steve had done the impossible. No wonder Bucky had loved him forever, and never told him, knowing he could never be worthy of such innate goodness. So now here they were, Bucky safe from Hydra, in what he now realized must be the Avenger’s tower. But who would keep Steve safe from Bucky? From the man who only wore Steve’s best friend’s face, a resemblance that Bucky was certain went no deeper than skin. He might once again remember and own the emotions and memories he’d had for, and of Steve, but the rest of it… He couldn’t say who he was anymore, but that always laughing, charming, happy boy from Brooklyn – no, he was certain there was nothing of that left inside of him.

            Slowing his heart rate through extensive training, Bucky tore his gaze away from the man that his eyes were trying to devour whole – making up for seventy years of waking up without Steve in his life – and inspected his surroundings. The idea of staying in this form, whatever precisely it was, made his stomach revolt. Yet not only did he not want to risk Steve’s life with his own much more lethal body that had already done so much damage to the blond, he also didn’t care to risk detection. Not before he’d found a way out, away from Steve. When that thought sent a new pang of agony lancing through him, Bucky disregarded it as he’d learned to function past all levels of pain. He had no time for personal torment.

            Uncertain of his new body, yet confident he would be able to use it like the silent weapon that was his other body, Bucky carefully pulled his unruly claws – Jesus Christ, _claws_ – from the blanket, and then made to stealthily prowl out of the living room, to windows, to a freedom no part of him truly wanted. Before all four of his limbs tangled together, sending him toppling face first off the side of the chair, the tiny little “mew” of distress he made shocking both him and Steve equally.

            Steve jolted awake at the sound, his eyes falling on the fuzzy little heap Bucky made on the carpet, and before either of them could think, the blond had rushed over, carefully righting Bucky. Who immediately tried to back up from those hands he only wanted to push into, that he’d missed, missed, missed, and promptly fell over once more.

            “Bucky, are you okay?” Steve gasped out, eyes wide in naked concern as he stared down at Bucky, though he clearly fought back the need to try and help Bucky once more. Bucky closed his eyes in resigned acceptance of his current attempt at covert escape being foiled, cursing everything Hydra had ever done to bring him to this moment, most particularly of all transforming him into something roughly the size of a breakfast burrito. Fuck, he hadn’t realized how small he currently was – or maybe he’d just never fully appreciated how freaking big Steve was. Either way, he hadn’t felt at such a disadvantage since the first time those blue eyes had landed upon him, nearly ninety years ago, and he’d felt like he’d been knocked out cold.

            “Can I… can I help you?” Again came that achingly familiar voice, and upon hearing it, Bucky was no longer able to resist everything in him that demanded he look upon the face he’d missed even when he could no longer remember what he was missing. Huffing out a tiny sigh that did nothing to express the depth of frustration, anger, and fear that still ran through him, Bucky shook his head, the gesture feeling flat out _strange_ , before he used significantly more caution in getting to his feet – all four of them.

            Speaking into the silence once more, Steve ran a hand nervously through his hair as he drank in the sight of Bucky, standing shakily before him. “You’re safe Bucky. I, well we, rescued you from Hydra. Blew up the bunker while we were at it – they won’t be coming back for you. You’re safe here, can stay here as long as you want.” Forever, Steve’s eyes seemed to beg. Bucky looked away, from the temptation that only the selfish would accept. He could not hurt Steve again. “If you want… if you _can_ , you can, uh, shift back Bucky. No one will hurt you here, I promise.”

            When it looked like Steve couldn’t contain the urge to reach forward once more, as though to convince Bucky of his sincerity with both his words and his touch, Bucky shrank back, nausea rolling through him once more. _Don’t risk Steve, don’t risk Steve_ , was the mantra in his head.

            Bucky had thought he’d known every expression on Steve’s face, yet what flickered over those strong features in reaction to Bucky’s silent rejection was unreadable. Finally, Steve pressed his lips together, and nodded, his voice as reassuring as ever. “That’s just fine Bucky. Whatever you need, whatever you want, you can have it, I promise. Maybe… are you hungry?”

            Bucky’s ears pricked so hard in response, Steve was startled into a laugh, while Bucky was nearly startled into falling over once more. But thank God, he maintained his feet, and some measure of dignity. “Food it is then,” the warmth in Steve’s tone was warmer than even the blanket, and both parts of Bucky wanted to roll around in it. “We don’t have cat food, but I’m guessing you wouldn’t want that anyways-” Steve teased, and they both discovered at the same time a tiny Bucky’s glare was just as formidable in this form.

            Steve threw his hands up in surrender. “I’m kidding.” And had anyone _joked_ with Bucky in the last seventy years? He couldn’t remember, but he didn’t think so. People rarely struck up a witty banter with the assassin sent to kill them. The fact that Steve could, that Steve would _want_ to after all Bucky had done to him … if Bucky hadn’t already been rendered incapable of speech, that would have done it. “I’ll see what we’ve got. Although – there’s probably some things that aren’t safe for you to eat like that. Jarvis?”

            “Yes Captain?” At the cool voice that suddenly sounded in the room, pure instinct took over, and Bucky scrambled towards concealment, which in this case, happened to be beneath the very chair he’d face planted off of. Risking Steve with his presence in this form was bad enough, Bucky had no idea how he’d instinctively react with anyone else near.

            Immediately seeming to realize his mistake, Steve made a silencing gesture that Bucky missed but the AI did not, and quickly got down on hands and knees to look at the eyes glowing in the shadows beneath the chair. “Bucky, it’s okay, I promise. Just a computer. The only ones here are you and me – no one else. For as long as you want.”

            Frustrated once more by the tiny heart that thudded in lingering panic, this form clearly coming with instincts that his own human mind could not overcome, Bucky stared at Steve doubtfully. Nodding, Steve seemed to come to a decision, before he shoved back to his feet, which Bucky saw padding away. Despite himself, he was reluctant to lose sight, huffing out a breath of irritation once more as his urge to _follow_ finally coaxed him into wiggling out from under the piece of furniture, trailing behind the blond as he stepped into what was unmistakably a kitchen. And damn, those cabinets were high… Bucky realized, nearly craning his neck to see towards the top of them.

            Glancing down at him, Steve bit his lip, clearly understanding touching Bucky was out of the question. Bucky simply rolled his eyes at Steve’s tortured expression, the oddly familiar gesture making something inside him whisper that perhaps not all of who he’d been before was lost, and assessed the stools surrounding the kitchen island, before clambering up them, claws coming in useful as he at last managed to use wobbly legs to get on top of the counter.

            Shooting Steve an expression that was nothing but smug, because it may not have been his most graceful assent ever, but hell, not bad for someone adjusting to an entirely new physique, the broken shards of his heart shifted painfully within him at the look that had taken over Steve’s face. Happy, and aching, and so damn _grateful_. Forcing himself to look away, knowing looks like that would only make it harder when he did manage to escape, Bucky justified why he didn’t make a run for it right now. Not only would Steve have no trouble catching him in his currently uncoordinated state, but it was better to fuel himself for the break out. The warmth of Steve’s presence that was like the sweetest caress on his skin had nothing to do with it.

            Clearing his throat, Steve pulled out his cell phone, tapped away on it with a skill that would have surprised several members of his team who still assumed he was approximately as tech savvy as a caveman, before nodding. “Looks like everything in lasagna would be safe. How’s that sound?”

            There was no holding back the piteous mew at the offer, and Steve flat out laughed. “Yes to lasagna then.” Which is how Bucky found himself presented with a plate in short order of the first food he’d been given in seventy years that wasn’t energy bars, high calorie drinks, or intravenous drips. Lifting one paw contemplatively before dismissing it, Bucky gave as much of a shrug as he could manage. Fuck it.

            With as much grace as he’d displayed when face planting off the chair, Bucky face planted in the plate of lasagna. And if the sound of Steve’s laughter, longer and louder than ever, made everything within him tremble in a way that had nothing to do with fear – well, no one else needed to know that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uncoordinated Buckitty brings me such joy, I can't even handle myself. If you're enjoying this, I adore your comments :D


	4. Chapter 4

As Steve unabashedly watched Bucky attacking the plate of pasta, tiny purrs rumbling from his equally tiny body, it took longer than it should have for him to identify the feeling that coursed through him at the unmistakable sound of Bucky’s contentment – Steve was happy. For the first time since emerging from the ice, truly, for the first time since Bucky had fallen, he felt _happy_. Despite the guilt that still lived within him, despite the fear that if he let Bucky leave his sight for even an instant the man would be gone once more, none of that could push back the sheer joy that shimmered so brightly in him, it was as though his heart full of shadows and doubt had at last been shown the sun.

            It didn’t matter to him that Buck for now, and possibly forever if he chose it – because the last thing Steve would ever do was allow anyone else’s will to be inflicted upon the man again - was a kitten, rather than the larger than life figure he’d always been in Steve’s eyes. Steve would accept Bucky whoever, and _whatever_ he was. All that mattered was that he was here, and he was safe. And most of all, that he was happy. Steve vowed in that instant he would do anything he could to coax that sound of pure contentment out of his best friend as often as he possibly could – forever if he was fortunate enough. Hoping that each moment of happiness he could provide Bucky, no matter how small, might begin to make up for having let his best friend down in ways that he knew were unforgivable. Still, he would try.

            Tempted to stroke a hand along that fluffy little body once more not only because he missed contact with his oldest friend, but because seriously Bucky was literally the cutest kitten in the universe, all tiny white paws, fluffy little body in soft shades of gray, adorable tufted ears, a puffy tail currently curling in culinary bliss, and gorgeous blue eyes, Steve was saved from the impulse by his phone chiming. Steve was fully prepared to ignore it, not wanting to risk losing this feelings he’d gone several lifetimes without, yet when he saw it was Sam, he knew that wasn’t an option. Swiping the phone off the counter, he answered the facetime request even as he turned away, leaning against the counter when he could force himself to move no further from Bucky.

            “Sam, good to hear from you. How’s it going?” The man who had quickly become one of Steve’s closest friends, not to mention an honorary member of the Avengers (Tony had printed him a t-shirt that had made Sam laugh, before he’d worn it with pride) had been on his fair share of Find Bucky missions. He’d missed out on the last only because he’d refused to abandon his position at the VA, still wanting to maintain the relationships he’d made with the vets there, and regularly commuted between his own quarters in the tower (which had taken significantly more convincing to accept than the shirt), and his home in DC.

            “Oh, living the dream, man. But not compared to you, it sounds like. What’s this I hear from Nat about your never-ending game of Where’s Waldo finally being over?” Sam demanded, nothing but happiness on his face for Steve. Just further proof of what an incredibly good guy Sam was. After all, Bucky _had_ tried to kill him. On more than one occasion. Yet Sam had displayed an impressive depth of understanding quicker than even some of the Avengers, too well versed in the realities of war to hold a prisoner of war’s actions against him. Aside from Natasha, Sam had been the first to help Steve, and even when he couldn’t join the blond on every mission, he’d contacted Steve regularly for updates, to offer encouragement, and with any intel he’d managed to dig up in his own spare time.

            “Yeah, it’s pretty amazing. Sorry I didn’t call you myself, everything is just… I just…” Trailing off, unable to express the depth of emotion he felt, Steve bit his lip at Sam’s expression of sympathetic understanding, kind and gentle.

            “Don’t sweat it man, I get it. I know how long you’ve been searching for him, and now that you’ve found him, there’s going to be a huge adjustment period – for everyone. But I’m just so damn happy for you. That you finally found your boy-” Sam trailed off, brows lifting in surprise. “And… got a cat?”

            Ah. Clearly Nat hadn’t explained _that_ part. Realizing his current angle afforded Sam a view over his shoulder to where Bucky was attacking the lasagna with an enthusiasm that was almost too cute to handle, Steve wondered where to start, when Sam’s brows lowered, then drew together. “Dude, you know Garfield is just a cartoon, right? I don’t think you’re supposed to feed cats lasagna in real life.”

            “Well, actually, he’s not –” but before Steve could finish the sentence, Bucky looked up from the now thoroughly empty plate, his adorable face covered in sauce. Though that in no way hid it when he narrowed his eyes at the small image of Sam on the phone screen. Before he deliberately lifted one dainty paw, curling his toes in, leaving a very specific one raised, tiny claw gleaming in the kitchen light.

            “Is your cat… flipping me off??” Sam demanded incredulously. Steve collapsed into laughter so hard he cried, clutching his chest as tears streamed down his face, laughing all the harder at the mingled look of confusion and affront on Sam’s face, and the expression of pure smug satisfaction on Bucky’s. No, it didn’t matter who or what Bucky chose to be now – no matter what, Bucky was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for Sam! Yay for funniness! Yay for my bestie who pointed out a cat eating lasagna is totally a Garfield thing... I literally didn't even think about that. I just had been craving lasagna. Haha. I hope you are enjoying this silly yet oddly feelsy fic! If so, I love love love hearing from you. <3


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Steve had wrapped up his call with Sam, a man Bucky didn’t know, but recalled with acute clarity kicking off the side of a helicarrier – and yeah, he felt bad about that, probably should apologize for it, but the man _had_ questioned his right to lasagna so maybe not – the effects of the best thing he’d eaten in seventy years was hitting him, and hard.

            Contentment - a feeling it had taken several minutes hard consideration to label, it was such a foreign experience to him – coursed through him. Warm, delightfully full, and wrapped up in the scent of Steve, that despite it all was still just the same as when they were kids back in Brooklyn, yet so much more potent and nearly intoxicating in this form, Bucky forced open eyes that wanted to slide shut.

            With no small measure of aggravation, as he swayed on his tiny feet until he wisely sat down – and _that_ was an interesting experience, trying not to sit on a freaking tail – Bucky contemplated how far he’d fallen. He was the Winter Soldier, a goddamned master _assassin_ , who had functioned at the level of a highly specialized weapon. He was unfeeling, precise, methodical. He did not fail, when failure only brought more pain. He had spent days at a time awake on a mission, never losing focus. Yet here he was, only an hour out of sleep, and he could hardly maintain consciousness.

            Perhaps it wasn’t just the body, though that unquestionably contributed. Perhaps it was the unparalleled sensation of safety that wrapped him in the softest of arms, like a prison that only wanted to protect, not possess. Though, he realized with a heart that didn’t feel quite so broken in this body, it had nothing to do with his surroundings, and everything to do with who he shared it with. Steve was safety.

            No matter how fractured his memory, his tentatively pieced together heart recognized the truth – Steve was home. A sensation so foreign, it had taken even longer than contentment for him to recognize. And fuck, once he had, the temptation that had crawled through him held more sway than any of Hydra’s brainwashing or rhetoric ever had. With Steve is where he was meant to be, a voice whispered that he though just might belong to the Bucky he’d been, and the craving in his was undeniable.

            Bucky had been denied the ability to _want_ anything for so long, that now that he had the freedom to do so, it was a harsh, brutally agonizing lesson to discover being denied the ability was less painful that having to deny himself. No matter how every part of him wanted to stay, no matter how watching the blond light up like the sun in the sky when he laughed, and the accompanying feeling of awe and accomplishment that _he_ had been the cause – he couldn’t risk Steve.

            Yet he could do nothing about the battle that raged within him every bit as fiercely as the one he and Steve had waged in that crashing aircraft – not safe, not safe, _not safe_ – when this frustratingly frail body was failing him. At the thought, the sharp metallic taste of fear rose in his throat once more. Tools were not allowed to fail. Until Steve set his phone aside with a warm smile that hid nothing, and leaned his forearms on the counter, the tiny heart that had begun a frantic beat once more calmed. Steve didn’t look at him like he was a tool that would be decommissioned should it malfunction. Steve looked at him like … like the way he always had, the expression so warm and affectionate it reminded Bucky of all the longings he’d ever experienced for _more_. No heart, no matter how shattered, could be immune against it.

            “So, looks like you enjoyed that. I’m so glad Buck. You can have anything you want any time, just let me know,” Steve trailed off thoughtfully, laughed self-consciously as though he felt foolish realizing Bucky couldn’t exactly tell him his next craving. “Or you know, just point to the kitchen, and we can figure it out together.” Together – Bucky’s heart beat faster again at the word. “For now though, we might, uh, you might want to get cleaned up?”

            That wasn’t the worst idea in the history of the world. Already the sauce was drying on Bucky’s face, the sensation not precisely comfortable. Of course, such a slight discomfort was irrelevant. But maybe here, where nothing had hurt yet, it didn’t have to be. Nodding in agreement, Bucky wobbled his way over to the edge of the counter, where he glanced over the edge, and let out a sigh. It looked a lot higher from up here. And sure, in his own body he jumped off multi-story buildings with ease. Yet somehow, he didn’t feel confident this frankly embarrassingly fragile body was built to handle the same. Looking back up when Steve shifted from one foot to the other, he watched the blond flush.

            “Um, I could… carry you. To the bathroom? If you want. You don’t have to of course! I just, if you want…” Steve trailed off, clearly embarrassed as Bucky watched him with unblinking gaze which gave no hint of the turmoil within him. The closer he was to Steve, the more he worried. He yet hadn’t hurt the blond though… hadn’t even felt the whisper of an imbedded compulsion. It was a realization that he needed to examine much closer, and the implications of it. Nearly falling face forward once more – and dang, how big was his head in relation to the rest of his body, this was freaking ridiculous – Bucky decided that could wait for later.  

            At his second tiny nod, the flustered set of Steve’s features smoothed out into happy relief, before he slowly reached out, giving Bucky all the time in the world to reconsider, before he carefully lifted Bucky, holding his delicately against his chest. Surrounded by the blond’s scent more intensely than ever, the steady beat of that strong heart settled Bucky in a profound way when he still remembered with aching clarity how many sleepless nights he’d spent worrying Steve’s laboring heart would beat its last. Rather than fight the sensation, Bucky simply gave in. Curling into the heat of Steve, snuggling beneath that gentle hand, eyes closing as a feeling so much stronger than contentment floated through him, he didn’t open them again until Steve had gingerly set him on the bathroom counter. And then, catching sight of himself in the mirror, he instantly regretted it.

            Dear. God.

            Staring at his reflection with wide eyes gone even wider, he slowly took in the sight of himself. He’d had a feeling he was a feline, particularly given Steve’s cat food comment, followed up by Sam’s Garfield crack – and oh, he definitely intended to get the man back for that – but this was… ridiculous. Unacceptable. _God damn you Hydra_ , he mentally swore. Because he wasn’t just a cat. He was literally the most ridiculously fluffy, tiny freaking kitten he’d ever seen. Taking in the poofy little body and anxiously twitching ears, Bucky cautiously lifted his tail high enough to see, winced at how adorably fluffy that was too, before he collapsed onto the counter, bitsy paws pressed over his eyes as though if he couldn’t see, this indignity would not exist.

            At Steve’s resulting laughter, the delightful sound echoing through the room, it was _almost_ enough to coax Bucky from his shame filled hiding. Almost. But not quite. He didn’t move besides an irritable tail twitch, until Steve gently cupped his face and lifted it until his paws fell away, then began to carefully clean the sauce from his fur with a warm, damp wash cloth.

            “Come on now, don’t be like that,” Steve teased, his voice cheerful. “You always charmed all the girls with your pretty face before, you definitely would now too.” Bucky rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull away from the soft treatment, everything within him instinctively relaxing at the firm yet kind way Steve held him still. It was an impulse he blamed entirely on his feline biology, and nothing else.

            A few silent minutes later, Steve picked up one first little paw, then the other, and wiped them clean as well. “You know, this reminds me of the old days. Only it was you always cleaning me up, remember that?” Bucky didn’t respond, too lulled by the gentle touch, and the reassuringly safe sound of Steve’s voice. Though everything in him was listening, hard. “More days than not seemed like you had to patch me up after I got into some mess or another. Man, I heard your lecture so many times, I swear I had it memorized. I always did give you a hard time for it too, didn’t I? Said I didn’t need no one mothering me, and I was just fine on my own. You never did listen to me though.” Steve’s voice faded, something like sadness shifting behind those sky blue eyes where clouds had gathered. Hands halting, he held Bucky still, their gaze never breaking. “And I never thanked you for it. I should have…”

            At last, Bucky lowered his eyes, the spell broken, and Steve seemed to remember himself, and let him go. Both parts of Bucky, kitten and man, immediately missed the contact. But he couldn’t – not when Steve was staring at him, seeing someone else that no longer existed. Bucky was no longer the guy who had covered up his fear and love for the small, scrappy blond with sharp tones and anxious reprimands. He was instead what Hydra had turned him into – both metaphorically, and now, horrifyingly literally. He’d known he’d never been worthy of Steve back in the day, but now he knew he didn’t even deserve to inflict his presence on the blond. But so weak, so tired, he literally didn’t have the strength to leave now. Soon, he promised himself. Even as Steve gently scooped him up once more, and carried him to a bedroom where he placed Bucky on a ridiculously large pillow, and gently snuggled a blanket in around him.

            “Sleep Bucky. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

            It was a promise he’d wanted for years before Hydra had stolen even that desire from him. Yet Bucky could not give in to the temptation to just _take_ what Steve was offering him so selflessly. For seventy years he’d only taken the darkest path, though it was through no choice of his own. But now that he had the ability to make the choice, he knew he had to be better. Had to save Steve from himself.

            Soundlessly, he turned his face into the pillow that smelled of Steve – of home – and ignored the dampness in his eyes when he felt that hand stroke so sweetly over him one last time, letting exhaustion pull him back into sleep. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh more feels! *sigh* I just love these two so much... Stay tuned for the next chapter, where it will finally be determined if Bucky stays or if Bucky goes! 
> 
> Fun fact - nice comments help the writer work faster ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but the most important chapter yet. 
> 
> For further insight into Bucky's feelings, I recommend the amazing song Moondust (stripped version) by Jaymes Young. Heartbreaking and beautiful - just like Bucky.

When Bucky woke this time, there was no measure of confusion. Just that overwhelming sense of _home_ that he knew was a lie. His time asleep had been long enough for him to wake with the only logical conclusion firmly in place. Perhaps in this form, he posed no physical threat to Steve, and he was so fucking grateful for it, after all the damage he’d already inflicted. Yet, the way Steve had looked at him, as though he were still someone _good_ , someone worthwhile… He knew himself well enough now - this horrible amalgamation of the innocent boy he used to be, the weapon Hydra had shaped him into, and some mutable third entity that was neither - and knew whatever he was, was nowhere near what Steve wanted him to be. Perhaps even needed him to be.

            Steve would be better off without him. As for Bucky… well, he’d stopped believing in anything resembling happiness several lifetimes ago. Knew he didn’t deserve it regardless. Still, it was terrible to realize waking to physical pain was preferable to this – re-shattering his own heart that had just begun the most tentative start of healing.

            Drawing deep the smell of Steve into his lungs, so that he could never forget it again, Bucky carefully lifted his head, eyes widening in surprise when he saw even in the dark of the room, Steve was not there. Not that he’d expected the blond to stay… but he’d wanted him to. Admitting that to himself cost nothing now when he was already swimming in pain. What was one more ache? Fighting back the desire to hunt down Steve, to see him just one last time, Bucky carefully extricated himself from the blanket, and then leapt lightly to the floor, feeling more at ease in this form. Or maybe, just desperate enough to push it regardless the risk when he needed to get away.

            Carefully, he assessed the windows, and realized they did not open. Logical, given this floor was countless stories up, but problematic for Bucky. Considering the layout that even within the body of the kitten, his assassin mind had meticulously catalogued earlier, he realized his only true chance was through the living room, and onto the large deck. From there… he’d figure it out.

            Silently, he moved his way through the shadows into the living room, where he stopped short in surprise. Steve was there asleep, ensconced in a blanket. God, the man had given a tiny kitten his entire bed, and curled his super soldier frame onto a couch. Resolutely turning away from the unrelenting desire to clamber up the side of the couch, and curl up against Steve, Bucky made his way towards the doors nearly hidden in the wall that was pure glass. There he sat, tail twitching as he considered how precisely to open it. He could probably leap high enough to reach the handle, yet he doubted he had the physical strength or weight to turn the lock. Ready to try none the less, Bucky gathered himself to jump. Then nearly fell over in fright at the voice cutting through the dark.

            “Bucky.” Jolting, Bucky froze, before slowly turning to face Steve, who had somehow managed to move equally as quietly, and now stood, leaning against the couch. Steve’s expression was a mixture of emotion, poignant and devastating.

            “Are you…” Steve cut himself off, let out a sigh. Such a simple thing, but in it Bucky felt an echo of the bone deep tiredness he felt, after decades of never truly resting. Never just _being_. It was a shock to discover Steve might feel the same way.

            Bucky shrank into himself when Steve moved, bracing himself for… what, he was not sure. Yet rather than touch him, Steve reached overhead. Stunned Bucky further by unlocking the door, and pulling it open, the cold of the night brushing over them both.

            “If you want to go, I understand.” Steve’s voice was calm. Contained. And all the more painful to hear, for the agony that lay beneath it. “I know you may not want to… to be around me now. Or ever again. So I’ll let you go. No one will ever hold you prisoner again Bucky.”

            Bucky stood stock still, the agony in him renewed. _Steve_ …

            “But…” Steve looked away, eyes lifting up to the sky line that was so different from the one they both used to know, yet still so much the same. Just like Steve himself. “But before you go, you need to know – I _want_ you to stay. I’ve missed you so fucking much. Every day of my life since I lost you, I’ve missed you. I think I missed you even when I was asleep.” Each jagged shard of Bucky’s heart cracked further when Steve did make the most heartbreaking thing possible, and smiled through his sadness. “I know that I’m not who I was before, and maybe you don’t… don’t care to be around who I am now. But you need to know, I _understand_ that you’re not the same either. And I don’t care. I don’t expect you to be anything, or do anything. I just… I want you to stay.”

            The room was so quiet, Bucky was no longer sure either of them were breathing. Then air rushed from his lungs when Steve shifted once more. This time to nod to himself, as though some question had been answered, before the blond quietly walked away. Leaving Bucky alone in the dark of the night, with an open door, and freedom lying before him. Staring for endless moments out into the black, the place he knew he belonged, while Steve had been _made_ for the light, Bucky knew there was only one choice. Moving at last, he padded forward silently, fear pulsing, yet a growing certainty smoothing it over.

            Leaping back up onto the bed, which Steve had retreated to at last, Bucky cautiously padded forward until he curled up at Steve’s throat, nestling in carefully, some part of him still uncertain of his welcome. Until Steve made a nearly soundless noise, a broken sound of relief so intense it was painful, and gently cupped a hand over Bucky’s tiny body, pulling him closer still. The last brittle shard of tension that had lingered in him since being rescued from Hydra’s grasp melted away. They two sighed silently in concert, before sleep took them over once more. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckitttttttyyyyyy *cries into my cereal* Ugh, these two just kill me, they're both so self-sacrificing. But, hurray he's staying! Onto all the cuteness! ^_^ Thank you so much, all my lovely readers, for taking the time to read, kudo, and comment on this story. Your overwhelming positive response has been so wonderful, and truly inspired me to write this story quicker than I've ever written anything, and I deeply appreciate it. You are the best!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! As promised... all the fluff...

In some ways, it amazed Steve how quickly he became utterly comfortable with Bucky's presence in his life, after so long of searching for the man.  He wouldn't say he was used to it, and fiercely hoped he never would be.  He never wanted to grow complacent enough to take Bucky's presence in his life for granted again.  But he was comfortable, content and most of all deeply _happy_ to have Bucky near once more, the way he always had growing up.

            There were some significant differences, obviously.  For one, his best friend was now a ridiculously tiny kitten.  It wasn't the size or shape that struck Steve the most - it was the silence, when the man he’d always known had filled the quiet with teasing banter, off-colored jokes, and thoughtful observations that has struck into Steve’s heart. But he quickly discovered, voice or no, Bucky very effectively made his thoughts known. 

            The unimpressed look he’d aimed at Steve over the unsafe foods list now taped to the fridge spoke volumes.  Bucky was _not_ pleased to see chocolate at the very top. Steve had laughed aloud, the previously rare sound now one that filled the apartment time and again, his joy at being with Bucky coloring the air. He’d been quick though to offer Bucky countless alternatives, the need to give Bucky anything he could want (that wouldn’t make his tiny body helplessly sick) one that felt carved into his bones. And so, his kitchen which had previously served little purpose aside from housing countless boxes of cereal – seriously, this century had so many _choices_ – had become one of their favorite spots in their home.

            Laptop open on the counter, they poured over recipes, googling terms like “caramelize” and “broil”, and discovered just how far Steve’s limited cooking skills would go. At times, he nearly forgot his companion was a kitten rather than a particularly silent man, until the first time Steve had glanced over to see Bucky typing away on the laptop with his tiny little paws, eyes narrowed in concentration. He’d almost lost it over how _adorable_ Bucky was, only just managing to mask his downright embarrassing squee of delight as a cough. Judging by Bucky’s eye roll, he hadn’t been fooled. But neither had he attacked Steve with sharp little claws, so Steve figured it was probably alright.

            Steve loved every moment of their kitchen adventures, most of all the happy purrs Bucky let out when he enjoyed a culinary success, the noise feeding a need in Steve he’d never before been able to satisfy. He’d always know that some part of him wanted to take _care_ of Bucky. He’d assumed it had stemmed from his frustration that Bucky always seemed to take care of Steve, when Steve wanted nothing more than for Bucky to see him as someone strong, capable, able to take on the world.

            Now though, when there was no doubt Steve had survived, although perhaps not truly _lived_ , for years on his own, he came to realize it was so much more than that. Doing things for Bucky, no matter how big or small, it granted him a feeling of such contented happiness, it was like liquid sunshine melting through his veins. Feeding Bucky, lifting Bucky up on furniture or the tall counters, running tiny bubble baths in the sink for the man who had made it clear a cats normal grooming habits were _not_ going to cut it – each act only fueled Steve’s desire to do more.

            Despite Bucky’s (entirely justifiable) annoyance over chocolate deprivation, Steve liked to hope Bucky was feeling at least a fraction of the measure of happiness he himself was floating in.  After that first night, where Bucky had made the choice to stay, he had made no motion to leave again, something Steve was so fucking grateful for. 

            Initially the man had seemed almost hesitant though, uncertain of his welcome. Which was something Steve would not let stand, and immediately set out to banish that hint of doubt from Bucky’s mind. Though he never once forced his touch upon Bucky, he’d cautiously ran his fingers, feather light, through that so soft fur when Bucky moved just near enough. Steve had been rewarded by Bucky pushing closer into his touch, little body swaying as his eyes closed in blissful pleasure.

            Soon, any time Steve sat down, Bucky would be crawling all over him, settling in for petting, tiny mews imperiously demanding more if Steve’s hands would ever stop their stroking. Each night would find Bucky curled up on Steve’s chest, Steve’s hand protectively covering the tiny body. Each day, Bucky would mischievously weave through Steve’s feet as the blond walked, the laughter clear in his eyes when he made the man trip and flail, flying into walls in his mad attempts to avoid stepping on Bucky.

            The time spent cuddling together was Steve’s favorite of all, every time Bucky curled up against him sending the most exquisite ache through his chest. He loved the barely there weight of Bucky’s body against him, warm and soft, as they sprawled out and watched movies, Steve absently adding his own commentary, or “remember when Bucky?”, winding reminiscing of the old days. Each happy little kitten noise, or rumbling purr that seemed too big for such a small body only made that ache feel all the sweeter. Steve was so fucking happy, he was more grateful than ever for his serum enhanced body, certain his heart before it would have been too weak to handle the depth of emotion. And while he wondered if he would ever hear Bucky’s voice again, the idea he might not brought him no pain. So long as Bucky was _here,_ that wasn’t just enough – that was everything.

            In the time Steve spent with Bucky, the rest of the Avengers had given him space, though not completely. Each of them had demonstrated their friendship, and their genuine concern over Bucky and Steve’s welfare, in their own way. Tony, the first to call via the holographic screen, had taken one look at Bucky sprawled belly up in Steve’s lap, and stated “So, looks like Hydra’s Metal Paw is adjusting just fine.” Turns out Bucky was equally as adept at flipping someone off while lying upside down. Steve once more laughed until he cried. Natasha had sent up Russian desserts, all chocolate free, with one of Tony’s more capable robots. Bucky had passed out after consuming them all with a gluttony that had impressed Steve. Clint had sent a litter box via FedEx. Bucky had taken the opportunity to test the destructive capabilities of his razor sharp claws. Turned out, they were pretty damn effective.

            It was Sam though, that Bucky had the most interaction with. Steve had been stunned to discover Bucky hadn’t only been using the laptop for recipe researching purposes. He’d also used Steve’s e-mail to locate Sam’s address, and send him off a prank message. A fact Steve hadn’t been aware of until he’d read with no small amount of confusion Sam’s exasperated reply, cracking up once he’d understood just what Bucky had done. “Check if my fridge is running, because it might run out the door? Seriously? God, Rogers, his sense of humor is even worse than yours,” Sam had written back. It was a revelation to discover even with his serum enhanced body, it was possible to laugh until his stomach ached.

            After that, Sam had insisted he needed to come over, if only to make sure Bucky wasn’t building a Twitter account full of equally terrible jokes. Steve had wondered how Bucky would react to the idea of someone else coming into the space they’d occupied together, alone, for some time now. When he’d broached the idea, unwilling to commit without Bucky’s consent, Bucky had contemplated thoughtfully before nodding. Steve had been surprised by Bucky’s easy agreement. Until, of course, Sam had shown up, a wide smile spreading across his face in welcome. “Steve, good to see you man!” he’d exclaimed, moving to pull the blond into a hug. Before he’d abruptly found himself attacked.

            Yelping, Sam had jumped, both he and Steve looking down in shock to see Bucky gnawing on his ankle, nothing but intense resolve on his fuzzy little face. “Bucky!” Steve exclaimed, lifting him up by the scruff of his neck. Bucky’s body went instinctively limp, docile in Steve’s firm but gentle grip, yet his expression was nothing but smug satisfaction.

            “No biting our friends Bucky. Or I won’t make that chicken dish for dinner you wanted,” Steve admonished him firmly. Bucky’s face was pure betrayal, but when Steve stood firm – though God, how he held out against that freaking adorable little face, he had no idea – Bucky gave in with a grudging nod.

            Rubbing at his wounded ankle, muttering about needing to get a rabies shot now, Sam lifted his hands in surrender when Bucky’s claws shot out. “Truce?” he demanded, not letting his guard down when Bucky finally lowered his paws. Fortunately, Sam knew a thing or two about both guarded veterans, and cranky cats. As proven when Steve went back to prepping dinner for all three of them, chatting all the while, and Sam, who had taken a seat at the kitchen island, pulled a long red piece of yarn from his pocket. Casually letting the end drop to the ground, he watched from the corner of his eye as Bucky froze, staring hard at the string, up at Sam suspiciously, then back at the string. Which Sam then tugged slightly. Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his tail twitching intently, though he made no other motion. Until Sam tugged the yarn once more, trailing it over the carpet. At which point all of Bucky’s self-control disappeared, and he pounced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Buckitty. I love protective Steve. I love sassy Sam. I love them all!!! So, I've finally resolved how this story will work itself out (you think I'd have that sort of thing figured out before starting...) so I'm now putting a tentative chapter count on here. I'm thinking there will be 4, perhaps 5 left. Then what to do with my life??? *stares off into distance, imagining a sequel*
> 
> As always, if you're still along for the feelsy ride, and enjoying it, I love hearing from you :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hate that there was a delay in this chapter, after I'd been doing so good posting every day. But unfortunately I've been having some health problems that have yet to be resolved, so the rest of this story will likely come a bit slower. But I promise, it will be finished sooner rather than later!

God damn Sam Wilson. God damned yarn. God damned kitten instincts that were so much stronger than he initially realized. He’d thought the eternally pounding heart was bad enough, yet in the time he’d spent with Steve, he’d come to realize there were countless instincts that were every bit as powerful as his own. It was something that had initially frustrated and embarrassed him in equal measures, when he felt helpless to prevent what he _knew_ were overreactions. There was simply no reason to seek shelter under the most convenient piece of furniture when Steve accidentally closed a door or cupboard louder than expected. No reason to jolt, tiny body puffing up when Steve sneezed or coughed, the reflex completely massacring all of his masculine pride. Yet Steve never once made him feel badly for it, the blond always apologetic and quick to soothe Bucky with soft strokes over his back, settling the heart that always seemed one beat away from stopping altogether – the sensation giving him a deeper sympathy for how Steve must have felt all those years ago.

            There were benefits to his current form, though. The kitten body gave him license to cuddle with Steve in a way he’d only dreamed about before. He’d been hesitant at first, not only with lingering fear he might cause harm to Steve, but most that Steve might cause _Bucky_ irreparable hurt – by rightfully repudiating the touch Bucky knew he had no right to inflict upon anyone. Least of all, someone as good as Steve. How could someone who had caused so much agony and death deserve the kindness of physical touch that caused no pain?

            However, not only had Steve accepted each hesitant touch, he’d fulfilled every one of Bucky’s hopeful wants that were so painful after years of being touch starved, they were _needs_. Stroking soft fingers through Bucky’s fur, cupping his incredibly strong hand so gently around Bucky’s tiny body, each affectionate gesture only made Bucky hunger for more. And in this, his kitten’s instinctual desire for petting was no match for the man’s soul deep starvation for Steve’s touch.

            Bucky had worried that Steve being Steve, the blond was simply giving Bucky what he wanted, without any regards for his own feelings. But the happiness that radiated from Steve with each touch, whether it was sleepy and soft, or teasing and playful, was unmistakable to both sides of Bucky. It was hard to comprehend _he_ could bring Steve that level of happiness, but with each warm smile and loud laugh, he knew he never wanted to stop. And when the kitten showed no sign of intending Steve harm – unless you count mischievously waking Steve up with a fluffy tail suddenly stuck in his ear, Steve flailing to consciousness with helpless, panicked, tickle induced laughter, which Bucky certainly didn’t though Steve might not agree – Bucky felt more at peace in this form than he’d felt with his own in longer than he could recall.

            He felt that instead of a body altered by Hydra into a weapon, and a mind ready to comply, he could simply be. He felt like he just might be _safe_ to others. Most importantly, safe for Steve. The sensation was one that made the disassociation between himself and the body he’d unexpectedly found himself in fade a bit more each day. He was still _Bucky_ , the mind and the heart of the man unchanged, yet the body he was in, no matter how painfully and cruelly he’d received it, had become his own. And if it allowed him a level of blissful contact with Steve unlike any he’d ever known before, without fear, than he’d never regret it.

            Except for this precise moment, apparently. When Sam, that bastard, was taunting him with the unreasonably enticing piece of red string, dangling it to the floor. Bucky knew there was absolutely zero logical reason for him to care about a bit of yarn, aside from considering its practical use as a defensive weapon perhaps. He _knew_ that. And yet, clearly that made no difference. Because as Sam pulled on it, there was no help for it. Bucky _wanted_ it.

            Attacking the string with a fury he normally reserved for mission targets, or the decadent desserts Nat kept sending, Bucky leapt upon it, catching the string with his cat-quick reflexes, batting it around with vicious claws before catching it in his mouth and gnawing on it. Sam’s laughter had him puffing up with indignant embarrassment, glaring up at the man suspiciously. But he saw nothing but kindness on Sam’s face, his expression as genuine and unguarded as Steve’s, no sign of his amusement being at Bucky’s expense, that he was enthralled by _yarn_.

            Instead, Sam continued to play with Bucky, tugging the string any time Bucky would pause in his fierce attacks, renewing his need to pounce all over again, until Bucky curled up by Sam’s feet, tiny lungs heaving. And he finally admitted to himself, without any shame when neither Sam nor Steve had looked at him with any condescension – that had been _fun_. Grateful for it, and the realization that his still razor sharp fighting instincts could be utilized for something as entertaining and silly as a damn piece of string rather than the ending of a life, Bucky decided Sam was a pretty good guy after all.

            Staring back up at the man who had every right to hate him, Bucky patted Sam’s ankle with one tiny paw, the apology silent, but sincere. Sam met his gaze with a small smile, and a nod of understanding. In that moment, Bucky felt nothing but glad Steve had a friend like this by his side.

            It was a feeling that became all the more fervent and relevant when less than a week later, Steve, at last, had to leave. The rest of the Avengers had handled each problem that had arisen since rescuing Bucky, wanting to grant the two men all the time they could, all the time they deserved after being denied the last seventy years. But the situation in London was volatile, and too large to handle without Steve, his strength, his wisdom, and his never ending fight. Steve hadn’t wanted to go, a fact that healed the shattered pieces of Bucky’s heart that much more, even as it made him cautiously begin to long for things that could not be. Bucky’s shock was all the deeper knowing that Steve never backed down from the battle for good, never hesitated to pick up his shield and defend those in need. Yet now, he wanted to – for Bucky.

            As much as Bucky had wanted him to stay, hating the idea of Steve fighting without Bucky at his six, the way it used to be a lifetime ago, he knew Steve needed to go. He’d crawled up Steve’s chest, placing a delicate paw on Steve’s jaw, his expression serious, until Steve had understood the silent demand. And reluctantly, Steve had agreed to go. Though not before Sam had shown up, and without sarcasm promised Bucky he’d have Steve’s back. Still, despite Sam’s reassurance, and Bucky himself being the wordless voice of reason, Bucky had hated Steve being gone.

            He’d tried to take comfort in the knowledge Steve had a truly amazing team at his side, and most of all, the incontrovertible fact Steve was simply too stubborn to die. Now that Bucky finally had him back, and felt closer to him than ever before, Steve could not leave him now. Steve could not die. Bucky would never forgive Steve for it – not when what was left of his heart would go with him. If Steve were gone once more, this time for good, there was no force that could keep Bucky in a world that didn’t have Steve in it.

            Burrowing under the blankets of Steve’s bed, he curled his tail around himself. Breathed deep the smell of Steve that was warmth and home and love, and ordered himself not to worry. A mantra he repeated to himself for eight days. The apartment that had felt so bright and full and happy now held a shadow that no light pierced, when Steve was gone. But Bucky got through. He ordering the food from the countless restaurants Steve had saved as Internet bookmarks, missing their cooking experiments that now only failed one out of every five or so tries. He carefully wielded the numerous remotes to the still intimidating entertainment center, watching movies that felt flat without Steve adding his commentary to them. Bucky slept on the couch when the bed felt too large and cold when he was in it alone.

            At last, Steve messaged him via the comm system on the wall, and let Bucky know he was on the way home. And the heart that had beat so quiet and slow in Steve’s absence, began to thrum once more. Steve was coming back, it seemed to beat in a frantic refrain, Bucky anxiously pacing before the door, which at _last_ opened, and his world that had been thrown off his axis righted once more. Because of course, he realized in a moment of clarity - Steve was his sun, Bucky helplessly pulled into his gravitational pull, basking in that generous warmth. Take away the sun and he was adrift, in the cold dark of space.

            Twining between Steve’s legs as the blond walked in, Bucky froze when Steve paused briefly, mumbled a quiet “Hey Buck,” before Steve continued on towards the sitting area. Uncertainty and shadows stole back in once more – because Steve had never once refused his touch before. Watching, silent and still as Steve collapsed on the couch, elbows propped on his knees, face falling in his hands, Bucky felt as uncertain of himself as he had the first day here. Something had stolen Steve’s light. How could Bucky, who still felt in his heart of hearts that he _was_ the dark, possibly help?

            Gaze raking over Steve, the dirt and blood staining his suit, the ash and scrapes marring his skin, Bucky realized once more there was only one choice – to move forward.

            Padding on silent feet, Bucky lightly leapt up on the couch, cautiously moving forward until he could rest his paw against Steve’s thigh. Who didn’t not move away, but sent a new fracture through Bucky’s heart all the same when after a long pause, Steve gritted out, “You don’t want to touch me.”

            Stunned, Bucky blinked up at Steve, who had yet to actually look at him. Concern growing with each passing second. What had _happened_? For the first time, he wished he had his own arms, to wrap around Steve. He wanted his own voice, to demand to know what was wrong. Only then could he figure out where to being in fixing it.

            Delicately stepping up into Steve’s lap, Bucky gently pressed a paw to Steve’s arm until Steve at last dropped his hands. The devastation that was on Steve’s face – it threatened to shatter Bucky’s heart more thoroughly than ever. Small noises of distress rumbled through Bucky, the sound visceral when Steve looked so _wrong_ , only growing when Steve made to stroke his hand over Bucky, before catching himself, and dropping it to the couch instead. “I don’t deserve to touch you,” Steve intoned, voice flat, full of the smoke and dust of battle.            

            And fuck. This was not acceptable. Steve deserved _everything_. Anxiously, Bucky shifted forward, paws pressing against Steve’s chest, trying to convey with the insignificant weight of his body that he was _here_. Still not meeting his distressed eyes, Steve gazed over Bucky’s head, blindly staring at the wall, seeing things thousands of miles away.

            Finally, Steve broke the disquieting silence. “There were… casualties. Civilian casualties. So many of them… We did everything we could, but it wasn’t enough. I failed them.” And _no_ , no, God, Steve hadn’t failed. He was only one man, could only do so much. Yet he’d always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and since hefting the weight of the shield, that burden had only increased. But before Bucky could try to wordlessly impart reason, to convince Steve had he nothing to be guilty for, not after he’d saved so many when Bucky in comparison had _stolen_ life, Steve continued, his face horribly blank, his voice horrifically wrecked. And Bucky realized it would only get worse.

            “Just like with you. I let myself think, just maybe after everything… maybe I could have you here – could keep you.” _Yes_ , everything in Bucky cried, wanting to be kept, wanting to be Steve’s in every way the blond would have him. “But now I see I was fooling myself. I didn’t save them, just like I didn’t save you. I didn’t… I didn’t catch you, when you fell. I let you fall...” Steve didn’t even seem to notice the tears that had begun to slowly trail down his face, tracing shimmering lines through the blood and dirt on his skin. Nor did he see the dullness in Bucky’s eyes, his grief trapped inside a body that could not cry. “And everything that happened to you is my fault.”

            Breathing alone had become a struggle, a tight fist around Bucky’s throat as he absorbed the implications of what Steve was saying, the guilt the blond carried, and the horror Bucky felt in response. Every touch, every kind word, every moment they’d spent together – had it all been done with the intent of simply righting the wrongs Steve was so certain he’d committed? Atoning? The idea that that was all it had been… It hurt him in new and exquisite ways Hydra would never have had the cruel refinement to imagine. Yet what hurt even more was the fact Steve _believed_ this. Believed that he had failed Bucky. When instead the only truth Bucky had ever been able to hold on to was that Steve was the good in the world, the one thing worth protecting. The one thing worth saving, even when he did not even remember Steve’s name, much less his own. Steve had never let him down – not once. Steve had brought him _back_. Rescued him more times than any person had the right to hope for, most especially of all Bucky.

            Letting his paws fall away from Steve’s chest, Bucky slowly sat down, his mind in turmoil, his heart in anguish. He felt more helpless than he ever had while under the painful control of Hydra, and he realized now, the hurt he feared he might inflict on Steve in his own form could not compare to the hurt Steve was inflicting upon himself, while Bucky was helpless to stop it.

            _Enough_. Of all the different forms of agony Bucky could stand, Steve’s pain was not one them. Which left him no choice at all. Moving away, each step a stab to his heart when Steve shrank into himself, silently accepting what he saw as Bucky’s recriminations, Bucky’s _acceptance_ of his guilt, Bucky quickly ran to the bedroom, pushing the door closed behind him. He knew the shift would be agony, accepted it, embraced it even if it meant he would no longer be powerless in the face of Steve’s hurt. However he would not let the sounds of his own physical pain add to Steve’s hurt – because it certainly would. More, he did not know what it looked like… Didn’t want Steve to see him that way.

            Decision made, Bucky wasted no time in reaching within himself, embracing his human form. A gasp ripped from changing vocal cords as his body stretched, shifted, bones groaning and ligaments snapping as he grew exponentially in a matter of moments. Yet nearly as soon as the pain had begun, it was already over, Bucky standing on two feet once more, panting as he trembled. Running shaking hands through his hair, he wondered vaguely if the agony had been lessened because he’d had time to recover, or perhaps because he’d chosen the shift of his own free will.

            Or maybe, his own pain was irrelevant when he could practically feel Steve’s beating at him. Regardless, Bucky stumbled forward, quickly digging through dresser drawers, pulling on a pair of sweats that pooled around his feet and a t-shirt the bathed him in the scent of Steve. Fuck, it felt strange to be a human, everything disorienting. His balance, his vastly increased height, his vision. And the fact it felt strange within his own skin was even stranger. But none of that mattered. Only Steve mattered.

            On equally silent, if still unsteady feet, Bucky moved back to the living room. Arms wrapped protectively around himself, he prepared to be turned away. But he was ready to take the risk. “Steve.”

            At the sound of Bucky’s voice, at last, Steve looked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckitty is now Beefcake Bucky!!! Stay tuned for a long overdue conversation, my lovely readers. Positive comments give me life and joy, especially when I'm feeling unwell!


	9. Chapter 9

Staring at Bucky, who he’d lost more times than a soul could bear, Steve found words impossible. Throat tight, lung function compromised, it was as though he were the weak man he’d once been. Trapped inside a weak body not designed to withstand a world that was harsh and often unkind. Staring into those eyes, Steve felt as though he would collapse under the demands of a heart that was as fragile as it had ever been. Bucky…

            Steve had held the man. Rescued him. Cared for him, as much as Bucky ever let anyone care for him. He’d taken comfort in the contact he’d been so starved without. Everyone knew he’d been asleep for seventy years. Yet no one had considered what the isolation had done to him. But Bucky… Bucky had so freely given him the same thing he’d always provided. Affection, comfort, a sense of home. Love. A love that Steve had never dared voice aloud, not when social expectations aside, he’d known he’d never be worthy of Bucky. Bucky, who’d always been larger than life, from the moment he’d pulled a bloodied and bruised Steve from the dirt, lifetimes earlier, to the second Steve had failed him one last time.

            From the second he’d woken, to the instant he’d known Bucky was still _alive_ , Steve had carried that shame with him every moment of the day. But finding Bucky as something small, delicate and vulnerable, Steve had convinced himself that perhaps, just perhaps, he could make things right. Could take care of Bucky in a way he’d never been able to before. But seeing the _man_ standing before him, looking so young, and beautiful, and _alive_ , it broke Steve’s heart even as it healed every fracture the fall had caused. Bucky was _here_. And Steve was so fucking arrogant to have ever thought for a moment he could offer Bucky anything. When the source of every hurt Bucky had ever suffered was Steve himself.

            Fighting arms that ached to reach out, enfold, Steve wrapped them around himself instead, his grip punishing. In a battle of superhuman arms tested against superhuman ribs, no one could win. Grounding himself in the pain, Steve tried to look away, yet could not. He’d been privileged enough to have Bucky in his life for weeks now. But staring into those eyes that he knew better than he knew the sun, into those features he’d captured in pencil and paper a thousand times over, it was seeing Bucky on the bridge all over again. Shock and disbelief and _pain_. So much pain.

            But his pain was irrelevant. All that mattered was Bucky’s, and Stark had been clear – the shifting was a process that spared no agony. Steve had been selfish long enough, he could not be an instant more. “Bucky. Are you okay? Can I get you anything? Water, medicine? I can call Stark –” Even as he made to move, to _still_ try to take care when he had no right, Steve froze, then shrank back when Bucky made to halt his frantic movement. He’d hurt Bucky, he’d failed Bucky, he _couldn’t_ hurt him anymore. Steve missed the pain that flickered over Bucky’s face once more, at his touch being denied once more

            Bucky would not be swayed though. Staring at the floor, Steve was unable to miss the way Bucky shifted his weight from foot to foot, the extra inches of fabric pooling around the floor in a way that made everything in Steve ache more from the _rightness_ of it. Bucky in his home, in his clothes… It was everything he’d ever wanted. And everything he knew he could not have.

            “It’s not your fault. What happened to me – those civilians dying. That’s not on you Steve.”

            Christ, that voice. Smokey and rough, yet so smoothly wrapping around Steve, he felt he was drowning in the sound of it. He remembered the last words it had spoken to him – about being a mission. Clenching arms tighter around himself, Steve shook his head, not even absorbing the absolution Bucky offered.

            “That’s not true. If I’d only tried harder-” His voice caught, guilt a living breathing monster that stole his breath more completely than asthma or pneumonia ever had.

            “I’ve killed Steve.” Hearing the guilt in that voice that impossibly seemed to surpass his own, Steve helplessly looked up once more, meet those blue eyes he’d been staring into for weeks now, confused by words that somehow didn’t fit.

            “Perhaps if I’d fought harder… been stronger… all those people I was ordered to kill would still be alive.” And no, just no. Fuck no.

            His own pain cast aside at the naked anguish shifting over Bucky’s features, that even after all this time, he still knew better than his own, Steve at last stepped forward, releasing the painful grip that had been holding himself together, to grasp Bucky’s arms instead. He failed to notice the way Bucky jolted in surprise at his metal arm being touched so thoughtlessly, before he helplessly leaned into the contact, body begging wordlessly for more, more. “Bucky, _of course not_. There’s no way you could have fought against that. All those people – that’s on Hydra, not you. Never you.”

            Even as he swayed closer, magnetically, Bucky’s brows furrowed, the pain in his eyes darkening. “Just like Hydra is responsible for what happened to me. For the deaths of all those people you fought to save. If I couldn’t be expected to overcome them, then how could you?” Bucky challenged, though there was no anger on his face. Instead, there was a painful intensity, as though he could not bear the idea of absolving himself – yet he could not allow Steve to bear the weight of the other side of the coin, the guilt that would crush any who thought themselves invincible.

            Steve stared down at Bucky, mind in turmoil as regret ran ice cold through is veins. The worst kind of pain was always cold. He could see the parallel Bucky was drawing, but couldn’t accept it. Not when every instinct in him had always demand he _take care_ of Bucky. And he’d failed, failed, failed.

            “It’s different,” Steve managed at last, his voice broken shards. He watched as Bucky flinched, though he did not draw away, the courage that had always lived within the brunet not allowing him to back down.

            “Why? Because you’re Captain America?” Bucky demanded, and at last, something closer to anger shifted over his features. “That makes you, what, better than me? Stronger than me?”

            And _no_ , no of course not. Every moment of courage Steve ever had, he’d mustered forth in pale emulation of Bucky. “No, I-” Steve started, before Bucky cut him off.

            “Or maybe it’s my fault for falling? For not being faster, not reacting quicker, defending myself sooner,” Bucky spoke, the words quiet now, and so laced with agony, it overcame Steve’s own.

            “Bucky no-”

            “It’s true. If it’s your fault, it’s my fault too.”         

            “It’s not your fault!”

            “How the hell isn’t it??”

            “Because you’re mine!” Steve shouted, both of them breathing hard, two sets of eyes widening in shock, Steve just as stunned by the outburst as Bucky. But he could hold the words back no longer. “Fuck, Bucky, I’ve loved you my whole life. Wanted to be there for you, take _care_ of you, the way you always took care of me. And when I finally had the fucking chance, when I was big and strong and capable, when I should have been the hero you always were to me, I let you _down_.”

            Eyes huge, Bucky stared up at Steve, mouth parted wordlessly. As the echoes of his furiously exclaimed words ricochet back into him, Steve felt just one more regret sink into him, one more in a sea of remorse that threatened to drown him more effectively than the ice of the artic ever had. Fuck. He’d never meant to tell Bucky. Never meant to risk pushing away the best thing in his life. And now that he _finally_ had Bucky back, he’d done it regardless.

            Letting go of Bucky’s arms as though he were suddenly burned, Steve made to step back, yet discovered Bucky had lifted his own hands and fisted them in his shirt, holding him still. “The only way you could let me down is if you let me go now. I have loved you since I knew what love _was_. And if you force me to go, thinking you’re sparing me, the only thing you’ll be doing is hurting us both.”

            Stunned, Steve was no longer certain his heart was still beating. The silence was so consuming, it was as though his own heart had paused in respect of it. “You… love me?” He couldn’t believe it. But he needed to hear it again. A thousand times again. Because all the times he’d dreamed of Bucky speaking those words, it had never sounded nearly as perfect as it did now, spilling from those sculpted lips.

            “I love you,” Bucky’s voice shook, and it was pure instinct that had Steve’s arms wrapping around Bucky, the same arms he’d used to hurt himself now holding Bucky with a delicacy such as he’d never shown before. As though the battle hardened, thickly muscled man who trembled in his grasp was the most precious thing on earth – because he _was_.

            Drawing him closer, Steve let his eyes fall shut as he pressed his jaw to Bucky’s temple, the feel of his hair kitten soft, the unexpected detail convincing him that this was _real_. “Say it again,” Steve demanded in a broken whisper, arms tightening reassuringly when Bucky tucked himself closer into his hold, breath warm against Steve’s neck.

            “I love you,” Bucky breathed, something close to a sob hitching his breath. “Don’t let me go.”

            Steve pulled back just far enough to stare into those wet ice blue eyes that were an ocean, his heart helplessly shipwrecked in their depths. And he learned for the first time, drowning could be sweet. “I will never let you go again,” he vowed. Steve still knew Bucky was wrong, that the fault was all Steve’s. He still knew he’d never be worthy of Bucky. But he would give Bucky anything and everything he wanted, and if Bucky wanted _him_ , a concept he could hardly grasp after a lifetime of hopeless want… then perhaps it wasn’t selfish to keep the man he’d never do enough good to deserve. Perhaps it was, at last, fulfilling the need that was stronger even than his need for air. To take care of Bucky. No, Steve didn’t deserve him. But he’d do everything in his power to make sure Bucky never regretted his decision to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, my lovely readers, they've confessed their love at last!!! I'm so happy *sobs emotionally* Now, they can just be together, and be happy, gosh diddly darn it!  
> Thank you all so much for reading. The response this story has received has just blown me away. And it definitely took me by surprise how many people were sad to see Buckitty go, with the arrival of Beefy Bucky! But fear not, just because he turned into his beautiful manly self, it doesn't mean he *won't* ever be Buckitty again... *hint hint* Up next, all the smut the tags have promised. >:D  
> I've loved hearing your wonderfully positive comments, and always enjoy more. :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, smut, smut!!! So this chapter is leaps and bounds longer than the others... You're welcome ;) 
> 
> Song Recommendation - Heal, by Tom Odell. A beautiful song that perfectly fits their relationship.

Burrowing deeper into Steve’s embrace, Bucky felt shock continue to spread through him. Rather than the type that numbed, instead it left in its wake an _awakening_. Nerves firing, blood scorching through his veins as a painless fire shimmered over his skin, everywhere he was pressed to Steve. And he hungered for more. Yet it was his heart that burned most of all, the heat within it forging together all the broken pieces of it so seamlessly, so perfectly, it was as though his heart had never been broken at all. Steve _loved_ him. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it, his mind struggling to comprehend the enormity of such a thing. Steve loved him. Yet there could be no doubting the sincerity carved into Steve’s face, the honesty in that voice which curled so deep within him. Steve never lied.

            Pressing his face into the hot skin of Steve’s neck, the blond’s scent every bit as intoxicating to this body as it had been to Bucky’s last, he drew Steve deep into his lungs. God, to be held like this – it was everything he’d ever wanted. And when Steve wrapped one arm tighter around his waist, the other raising to cup the back of his neck, the last bit of tension within Bucky simply melted at the hold which was possession and protection and _love_. It was every touch he’d adored when a kitten, now a thousand times more intense.

            The delicate glide of Steve’s skin over his own, it was addicting, and after a lifetime of waiting, he needed more. With a tiny mewling kitten noise he didn’t even realize he made, Bucky rubbed his face against Steve, his own hands grasping at the back of Steve’s shirt before gliding beneath it, seeking more heat, more skin, more _everything_.   Steve jolted in response, a groan coaxed from him in response even as he tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair and tugged, swallowing Bucky’s tiny gasp as he covered Bucky’s lips with his own. And fuck, yes, Bucky needed this even more.

            When Bucky would have surged up on his toes, the better to close the difference in their height, the hand at his neck tightened, holding him still, and Bucky simply melted. Held in place as Steve kissed him slowly, those plush gorgeous lips gliding over his own as though they had all the time in the world. Bucky felt faint at the dawning realization that they did. They had forever if they wanted it, and fuck, Bucky wanted it.

            Achingly slow, Steve dragged his lips along Bucky’s, the contact so simple, yet so devastating Bucky felt his legs go weak. They give out altogether when Steve delicately licked, then sucked on his bottom lip. He would have felt embarrassment at the reaction, had it not triggered a _growl_ of fierce approval rumbling deep in Steve’s chest, before the blond picked him straight up, strong hands coaxing Bucky’s legs to wrap around his narrow hips. Moaning at the contact, and the sudden unmistakable proof Steve was every bit as affected as he, when the hard lengths of their erections rubbed against one another, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and simply held on. Steve carrying him to his, to _their_ bed, kissing Bucky all the while with a slow intensity that Bucky seriously considered might drive him out of his mind with need.

            Whimpering when his back slowly hit the mattress, his full body grip on Steve did not loosen as the taller man settled over him, and fuck, two hundred plus pounds of muscle and heat felt even better draped over him than it had under him, when he’d curled up on Steve in kitten form. Helplessly he let his mouth tip open, his moan a near sob when Steve took the invitation and swept his tongue inside, the taste of him invading Bucky’s senses.

            Steve settled in, pressing heavier over Bucky’s body, his own groan of satisfaction sending the heat within Bucky burning higher. At last, pulling back a bare few inches after plundering Bucky’s mouth thoroughly, Steve panted through slick, slightly swollen lips. “Bucky, I want to take care of you. Give you whatever you need. But I don’t want to rush you, rush this. We don’t have to do anything at all. Though there’s no way I can stop touching you, even if it’s just to spoon,” Steve admitted with a wry smile, as though he were admitting a weakness. Bucky dragged his eyes back upon to stare into Steve’s, the blue of them his personal sky.

            “Steve,” he managed, watching the way those blue eyes darkened, pupils expanding at the sound of his own voice, and felt a responding jolt of arousal. Fuck, Steve was so gorgeous, and he wanted _Bucky_. He did not want to miss a thing. “Please, I want anything. Everything. I want, I just…” He made a noise of frustration, unable to express himself eloquently when everything in him was pulsing in _need_.

            Understanding, both gentle yet dominating settled over Steve’s features, the blond shifting his hips, dragging his cock along Bucky’s once more. Head pressing back into the pillow, opening the expanse of his throat, Bucky cried out at the fucking bliss of the sensation. Before going entirely limp when Steve so carefully placed his hand over Bucky’s throat, the hold delicate but unbreakable, the intimacy of it nearly undoing him.

            “I’ve got you, baby,” Steve promised, voice deep and so fucking sexy Bucky felt his dick pulse in instinctive response. Steve began to feather light kisses over Bucky’s face, along his cheek bones, then down the soft skin of his neck not covered by Steve’s hand. Stirring, Bucky whimpered once more, needing _more_ , gasping loud in gratification when Steve seemed to understand his wordless plea. Lips growing urgent, Steve licked at this skin, before sucking hard on the juncture where neck met shoulder, making a mark, livid and gorgeous that he pulled back to admire with a sound of approval. Before he leaned in once more to bite, teeth pressing deep. Bucky lost it.

            “Steve, Steve, Steve,” Bucky chanted, hands pulling frantically at the blond’s shirt, needing skin against his own yesterday.

            “Mm, good idea,” Steve hummed, rearing back to jerk his shirt one handed over his head, the motion pressing their hips harder together, Bucky’s eyes rolling back as he arched into the contact. Yet before he could get his hands on Steve once more, he was suddenly being manhandled out of his borrowed clothing, and in short order found himself gasping and naked beneath Steve.

            “Fuck, Bucky, you’re so beautiful,” Steve breathed, awe on his face and in his voice.  Bucky was too busy drinking in the sight of Steve to respond, who had oh so efficiently stripped off the rest of his own clothing. Jesus, he was gorgeous, acres of glowing golden skin covering muscles that had Bucky’s abdomen clenching in want. And that cock, heavy and hard, and literally mouthwatering… It only made Bucky all the more impatient for everything.

            Tracing greedy eyes down before moving them back up, staring at that face he adored, Bucky saw the features he’d always known back when Steve was small, and his alone, rather than belonging to the whole world – that golden silky hair that held the color of the sun, the blue eyes that were the sky, that nose broken from more than one fist fight, and those plush lips that were smiling, all for him. Bucky was in an instant overcome, and grateful for every single day of pain that led him to this moment now.

            “Touch me,” Bucky whispered. Smile growing so sweetly, Steve shifted to straddle Bucky’s thighs, before he began to run large, deliciously rough hands over Bucky everywhere. His artist fingers learned each inch of Bucky, each lingering touch a drug that left Bucky more aroused than ever, yet almost drowsily content to simply lay and soak in the sensation. Steve could touch him like this for a century and it still would not be enough.

            Arching, breath catching when Steve bit his own lip, brows drawing together in concentration, Bucky gasped as Steve brushed thumbs over his nipples, the noise earning him a firmer touch. He squirmed as Steve toyed with him, Steve making a happy hum of approval before finally continuing his fingers’ quest, gliding his hands over broad shoulders, and down Bucky’s arms. Bucky fell in love for Steve all over again for the way he so easily touched the metal arm - something Bucky had been without in his kitten form - as though it weren’t horrifying, or disgusting, but rather simply as a much a part of Bucky as any other limb. His eyes grew damp at the realization that Steve truly would accept him no matter what, he bit his own lip, to hold back the pained little noise that wanted to escape, not wanting Steve to hear it, misinterpret, and stop. Fuck, Bucky never wanted him to stop.

            Of course Steve noticed, and understood. His smile gentled as he leaned forward, bracing himself with a hand on the mattress, the other sliding up to hold Bucky’s throat lovingly once more. “You are so perfect Bucky, I love everything about you,” Steve said, brushing his lips along Bucky’s cheek, kissing away the tear that spilled over. He pressed his lips to Bucky’s again for a drugging kiss flavored by the salt of Bucky’s tear, and the taste was _happy_. Pulling back only when Bucky was making helplessly aroused noises once more, trying to arch up his hips for more contact when Steve held him effortlessly down, Steve’s smile now held more than an edge of wicked. And fuck, if the country could see their Captain now, the fire in his eyes pure sin, they’d never think of him the same.

            Stamping wet, open mouthed kisses over the center of Bucky’s chest, Steve continued down, pausing to skim teeth over the rippling, flexing planes of Bucky’s abs, before devoting long minutes licking and biting at the sharp angle of Bucky’s hip bone. The proximity to Bucky’s aching cock that was begging for contact by this point made him fucking crazy. Yet there was no way Steve would –

            “Fuck!” the shout punched out of Bucky’s lungs when Steve abandoned his now thoroughly bruised hip bone to lick straight over the head of his cock. The sensation was heat and wetness and everything fucking good in life.

            “Mm, you taste so good,” Steve drawled, as he wrapped a hand around the thick base of Bucky’s cock, fingers drinking in the feel of velvety soft skin wrapped around steel. “Now, I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’ve thought about this oh, about a million times. So hopefully this won’t be bad,” he said, the same expression of determination he wore before battle settling into his features, and Christ if Bucky didn’t find that hot as fuck. Sputtering at the idea that Steve could be bad at anything, when the feel of his hand wrapped around Bucky’s dick nearly had him coming already, Bucky swore when Steve leaned forward once more, and begin to lick at the length of his dick.

            Humming in blissful satisfaction, Steve at last took pity on Bucky who was sobbing out a nonsensical mixture of curse words and his name, and drew the tip of Bucky’s cock in his mouth. His tongue delicately exploring the broad, flaring head, Steve made a noise of delight as pre-cum spilled over his taste buds. Clawing at the sheets, trying to ground himself in something, Bucky absently heard them rip as Steve purposefully flicked his tongue at the sensitive skin right below the head of his dick, and he saw stars.

            “Oh fuck, oh my God, Steve that’s so fucking good, shit, please, please-” Not even knowing what he was begging for, Bucky simply knew he needed more. Which Steve seemed happy to provide, the blond sucking strongly on him before sinking slowly further over his length, the two of them discovering just how much he could take. And it was fucking impressive, his lips brushing the base of Bucky’s cock before he drew back, drawing in a ragged breath that told the story of just how affected he was by this as well, before taking Bucky back in again, throat working as he swallowed around the thickness of Bucky’s length. Bucky lost it.

            Sobbing out his bliss so complete it was almost agony, every muscle tensed as Bucky came, spilling deep down Steve’s throat, the blond eagerly swallowing his release, his greedy mouth pulling every last drop from him until Bucky felt hollowed out. Only when his moans turned pained, cock growing sensitive did Steve at last pull back, pressing an unexpectedly sweet kiss to Bucky’s hip, hands rubbing soothing circles over Bucky’s trembling thighs.

            “So, that was fucking amazing. Christ, now that I know how good you taste, how amazing you look when you come, I don’t know how I’m going to stop myself from doing that all the time,” Steve mused, a grin pulling over his lips at Bucky’s responding groan, and the way his still hard dick twitched valiantly at the image. Prowling back up Bucky’s body once more, he brushed his mouth over Bucky’s open, panting lips, adding thoughtfully, “I’m sure I’ll get better with practice.”

            There was nothing for it – Bucky reached up his metal arm, the other too limp from delicious pleasure to even move, and tugged on Steve’s neck until their mouths were crushed together, the taste of himself mixed with the flavor of Steve’s mouth so fucking erotic he didn’t know how he’d live through it. Not knowing how he’d ever lived without it. Love and need, and an unabated lust singing through his veins, he drew what little energy he had to finally move his arm enough to reach down, and wrap his hand around Steve’s cock, the idea he hadn’t yet touched the blond suddenly unthinkable, and unacceptable. Particularly when the resulting moan, and the way Steve’s head fell forward, face pressing into Bucky’s shoulder as his arms started to tremble, made Bucky feel more powerful than he ever had before.

            Exploring the gorgeous thickness and length of Steve’s cock, he gave it an experimental stroke, felt his satisfaction grow when Steve started to thrust his hips, helplessly chasing the contact. The perfectness of the moment struck him, because even more than he wanted to experience his own pleasure, he wanted to feel Steve’s. Wanted to cause it.

            Touching the other man was vastly different from touching himself Bucky discovered. Not simply in angle or the slight differences in thickness and length – though they were pretty damn evenly matched in that department – but rather in how rubbing his thumb over the slit, collecting the fluid there to ease the glide over Steve’s dick, hearing Steve’s gritted moans, feeling Steve hook his hands over Bucky’s shoulder to hold him tighter, closer, was so much more erotic than touching himself could ever be. The knowledge that _he_ was causing Steve to come apart, the blond trembling as he chased the sensation of Bucky firmly stroking him, adding an unexpected little twist motion, was intoxicating and addicting. His hand sped up when Steve stuttered out that he was close, lips brushing Bucky’s skin, Bucky tugged on the short silky strands of blond hair, forcing Steve’s mouth back to own, delighting in swallowing Steve’s shocked cry as he came, wet heat spurting over Bucky’s hand and skin.

            Shaking, Steve simply collapsed, smearing his release between them, and Bucky fucking loved it. Some basic part of himself gloried in the idea of being covered in Steve’s come, the scent of his lover soaked into his skin. Wrapping his arms around Steve, Bucky held him close, eyes drifting shut as he took complete comfort in the feel of that strong heart thudding powerfully against his own. Bucky let out a little noise of complaint when Steve finally levered up, clambering off the bed, though his didn’t have long to sulk before Steve was back, having already cleaned himself off, and started to wipe the milky fluid from Bucky’s skin with a warm, damp washcloth. Humming contentedly at the petting, basking in the adoring expression on Steve’s face as the blond took care of him, he finally tugged Steve back down once he was done, and rolled them so he could drape himself over Steve, much like the kitten he’d been a few hours ago.

            Resting his chin on Steve’s chest, he met that warm blue gaze and bit his lip, loving the way Steve’s gaze instantly arrowed towards his mouth. “I love you,” Bucky said softly.

            Instantly he felt Steve’s hand in his hair, and the blond pulled him in for another drugging, lingering kiss. “I love you too Bucky. More than anything,” Steve breathed. And it was crazy, but Bucky knew it was true. And knowing it, even as contentment sang in his veins, he still needed more. Needed to belong to Steve completely.

            “Steve?”

            “Yeah Buck?” Steve ran this fingers through Bucky’s hair, much as he’d petted kitten soft fur before, needing the contact as much as Bucky did, the both of them touch starved.

            “I was just wondering, if, uh-” Fuck, this shouldn’t be so difficult to say. But asking for what he’d been wanting for what seemed like forever, he grew flustered. His gaze skated away until Steve caught his chin, tilting it until Bucky met those eyes once more.

            “Tell me what you want,” the dominance in Steve’s voice was loving, and undeniable.

            “I want you to fuck me,” Bucky panted, body reacting to the hold and the command in Steve’s voice. Needing to give in to it in a way that was pure instinct.

            “Oh baby, whatever you want. And fuck, I want that too,” Steve breathed, his eyes praising as he quickly rolled them once more, even as he reached towards his nightstand and the lube he kept there. “Have you ever… done this before?” Steve questioned, no judgment in his face, yet Bucky felt compelled to answer regardless.

            “No,” he replied honestly, knowing Steve was referring to being with a man intimately. But the truth was, he’d never been with _anyone_ intimately. All the girls he’d wooed and kissed back in the forties were simply a cover for the fact he’d never wanted anyone the way he’d wanted Steve. Bucky had never been able to take things any further than that, never _wanting_ to. All he wanted was Steve. Nodding, Steve pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

            “Well, me either. But I think I’ve watched enough porn to have this figured out,” Steve stated, starting a shout of laughter out of Bucky, the blond grinning, eyes crinkling in response.

            “Oh my God, you’re such a dork,” Bucky snorted, even as his legs fell further open, letting Steve settle between them, heart beating fast once more at the idea that Steve, _Steve_ , would be giving him everything he’d ever desired.

            “Hey, avenging comes with a lot of down time. Got to do something to fill it,” Steve teased with a careless shrug, as he uncapped the lube, squeezing some out on his fingers, rubbing the slick around.

            Rolling his eyes, Bucky lost his joking response when just that quickly, delicate fingertips were at his entrance, rubbing lightly. Mouth tipping open, he moaned at the sheer intimacy of the touch, seeing the laughter fading from Steve’s gaze as well.

            “We’re going to take this slow. But if you don’t like _anything_ , if anything hurts, you tell me and we stop, okay?” Steve stated, the sheer weight of his dominance making Bucky nod helplessly. But right now, stopping was the last thought in his mind, as Steve continued those teasing circles, fingers pressing lightly but never pushing in. He needed more.

            “I love you Bucky,” Steve said, and it held the weight of a vow.

            “I love you Steve. Now please, put your fucking fingers in me,” Bucky panted. Steve’s resulting grin was pleased, and just shy of smug, as he refused to be rushed. He tortured Bucky for long minutes further, before at last the tip of his index finger dipped just inside, Bucky trembling uncontrollably. Trying to push down, to get _more_ , he keened when Steve braced his other hand on Bucky’s flexing abdomen, holding him exactly where he wanted. And as much as Bucky was impatient and needy, everything in him delighted in being so thoroughly controlled, by someone with only his pleasure in mind.

            Gently, Steve slid one finger deep, swearing at the feel of Bucky helplessly flexing around him, delicately thrusting it to slowly loosen the brunet. “Fuck baby, you’re so tight, I don’t know how I’m going to fit inside you,” Steve mumbled, looking unaware he was even speaking as he stared down at the erotic sight of his finger disappearing within Bucky’s body. Straining against the hand the pinned him down effortlessly, Bucky was rewarded when Steve added a second finger to the first, the two carefully scissoring.

            Fuck, Bucky didn’t know either, when already he felt overwhelmed by sensation, Steve lovingly stroking him from inside, each touch pushing him shockingly close to the edge once more. But he was determined to find out, enjoying the blissfully exquisite sensation of his body slowly releasing its tension, opening for Steve, whose strokes only grew deeper, harder, though just as slow. When Steve curled his fingers just right, rubbing over some incredible spot inside Bucky, it felt so fucking good, there was no holding back the sounds of pleasure pouring from his throat.  

            “Did you just… purr?” Steve demanded incredulously, staring up at Bucky as his fingers stilled in shock. The sound abruptly cutting off, Bucky threw an arm over his face in humiliation.

            “Um… shit,” he muttered, only to have his arm tugged away, Steve capturing his mouth for a kiss so filthy and deep it left him gasping.

            “Oh baby, that’s so fucking hot. I’m gunna make you do it again,” Steve promised, and Bucky could only whimper as Steve’s fingers started thrusting again, rougher than before as Steve’s control began to unravel. Yet it was Bucky who frayed completely, rumbling purrs of pleasure coming once more when a third finger slid inside him, the stretch so delicious, just on the right side of pain, he couldn’t wait any longer.

            “Please, Steve right now, right now, fuck me now, I need it,” he babbled, nearly delirious, missing the way Steve looked down at himself before glancing back up at Bucky with a look torn between concern and consuming want.

            “Bucky, I’m bigger than this, I don’t know if-”

            “I can take it,” Bucky swore feverishly. “Want to feel you, need you inside me.”

            And Steve, it seemed, could deny him nothing, when he withdrew his fingers, making a soothing noise at Bucky’s sad mew of loss. Quickly Steve poured more lube into his hand before slicking up his cock, then wiping his fingers clean on the already torn and ruined sheets. Leaning forward once more, he brushed his lips over Bucky’s, eyes holding the brunets gaze all the while. “I love you,” Steve whispered again, as the head of his dick pressed against Bucky’s fluttering entrance, the ring of muscle resisting for an endless moment before giving in, and Steve slid home.

            They gasped as one, the stretch almost more than Bucky could take as Steve glided deeper, the length of him feeling never ending. Until at last, Steve was buried completely within him, and the fucking wonder of it, of holding the man he’d loved forever _inside_ of him had tears tangling in his lashes once more. He was so fucking grateful when Steve didn’t grow alarmed, or pull away. Instead, the blond gently grasped Bucky’s hands in his own, lips pressing adoringly, comfortingly to Bucky’s mouth. Then gently, Steve pulled back before sinking deep once more.

            Eyes falling shut, Bucky moaned weakly, as the world narrowed to the sensation of Steve around him, holding him, moving so adoringly inside of him. And he’d never felt more vulnerable, yet more safe in the entirety of his existence. Drinking in each touch as he drank in each worshipping word falling from Steve’s lips, Bucky blinding turned his face into Steve’s neck, grounding himself in the contact as pleasure washed through him in waves. The burn of the initial stretch melted into nothing but pleasure, the feel of Steve so thick and hard within him pure ecstasy. He could do nothing more than simply hold on, fingers clenching around Steve’s hands, lips trembling as Steve smoothly thrust in him, adoring Bucky with his body.

            “Baby, Jesus, I love you so much, you’re so perfect for me, so good,” Steve spoke, as though he couldn’t stop, his words tangled with his own moans as Bucky flexed reflexively around him. Shuddering, Bucky felt himself shoved closer to the edge with each word, with each thrust, each brush of Steve’s lips against his temple, his neck, his shoulder. Less frantic than before, it felt like a forest fire, growing in magnitude, huge and unavoidable and all consuming. When Steve shifted his hips, altering the angle, and the head of his cock rubbed over that spot inside of Bucky, there was no avoiding the explosion. Bucky erupting, a yell torn from his throat, convulsing around Steve, who shuddered, and groaned as he emptied himself inside of Bucky, painting his insides with his release.

            Breath harsh, Steve rolled them one last time, still inside of Bucky, the connection pure intimacy as Bucky was draped limply over his form, boneless and weak. Vaguely, Bucky worried his dead weight would be too much for Steve, yet the blond only held him tightly, pressing kiss after kiss to Bucky’s temple, lips warm against soft, damp hair. “Never letting you go,” Steve repeated in a whisper, and as Bucky’s lashes fell shut once more, sheer contentment filled his healed heart. That was all he’d ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *does the ice bucket challenge to cool off* Well... that happened. Hurray! If you were sticking around all this time for the smut, I hope now that it has finally arrived, it satisfied :) Thank you lovely readers for going along on this feelsy, fluffy ride with Steve, Bucky and I. Next chapter is the last, but stay tuned for a very happy announcement at the end of it!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluff filled conclusion!!!

As music streamed merrily through the air, the crackling fire the epitome of cozy, pine and cinnamon scenting the room, Steve was filled with such happy contentment, he didn’t know how he could contain it. Heart thrumming from sheer joy, veins sparkling with the emotion, it was as though this body that had been built to withstand everything had not been created with such happiness in mind. But then, Steve was certain no one had ever experienced as much happiness as he, since Bucky returned to his life. Perhaps that joy was something no one could have been prepared for.

            Sometimes he felt as though their hearts were making up for the years they’d lost, experiencing all the love they’d both missed for seventy years in a dizzying blur of emotion that would level a weaker man. Despite all the pain and time it had taken to get there, Steve was so fucking grateful they were now both super soldiers, with hearts that would never stop beating for each other. Nothing could take them from each other, least of all a happiness so all-consuming it was indescribable.

            In the months since Bucky’s return, since they at last confessed those feelings that had been hidden within their hearts for an eternity, Steve had lived a life he’d never dreamed he could have. Every day spent with his best friend, every night spent in the arms of his lover, each morning waking up to his _everything_. They both still had their scars, the worst of them hidden deep inside where the marks didn’t show. Yet no nightmare felt impossible to overcome when they were there to help each other through every one.

            The longer they spent expressing their love for each other out loud, the level of their physical contact had only grown, and Steve might have felt ashamed for his greed were Bucky not so openly hungry for it as well. The two were practically one, always tangled together on the couch, a mess of cuddling limbs, or Steve’s arm wrapped adoringly around Bucky’s waist when they ventured out of their floor of the tower. The sight was so commonplace that on the rare occasion Steve showed up in the common area without Bucky – generally when the brunet was napping, lovingly buried in the blanket nest Steve would always build him – Tony would teasingly question where his murder kitty was. Steve only rolled his eyes, too used to Tony to take offense. And frankly, too thankful for the man who had taken them both in, no question asked, and given them both a home, complete with a feeling of safety and security they’d truly never known in their lives.

            Steve hadn’t pressured Bucky to venture out of their safe space. Not only because he would never let anyone, himself included, force Bucky into something he didn’t want, but because Steve was just as grateful for their uninterrupted time together. He could never have enough time with Bucky, wherever they were.

            Bucky, quicker than Steve had expected, had initiated braving the rest of the frankly confounding building. They’d been saved from hopelessly getting lost in some corridor or another more times than they could count by an ever helpful Jarvis, who’s cultured voice no longer make Bucky jump in reflexive fear. Steve was half convinced Tony had designed it that way, so that if one of his countless enemies ever managed to make it into the building, they’d be too desperately lost to pose a threat.

            Once Bucky had learned all the secrets of the tower, each avenue to safety, each possible vulnerability, he’d felt confident enough begin to mingle with the other inhabitants. Steve didn’t know if that had come second because Bucky wanted a quick escape in case they proved a danger to him, or if he himself worried about being the danger. But Steve didn’t ask. He simply provided his presence and his silent support for Bucky, wherever he went. And he’d had been delighted to see just how easily Bucky fit in with what truly was a bunch of misfits.

            Bucky traded quiet Russian words with Natasha, both of them giving Steve the side eye, wearing smirks that told Steve he was the source of their humor. Fortunately, he was too enamored with Bucky’s smile to care. Bucky and Sam had apparently made their peace, and now engaged in cutthroat games of Mario Kart. Steve had been banned from playing after demonstrating he could _not_ lose, and never hesitated to blue shell the love of his life. Steve had protested, quoting that all was fair in love and war, and all that jazz. He’d been overruled.

            Bucky, without a word from Steve, had fallen perfectly into the game of pretending complete ignorance over everything even edging towards modern technology in Tony’s vicinity, much to Steve’s amusement, and Tony’s eternal shock and frustration. “Seriously, how have you never used a _toaster_??” Bucky, and Steve for that matter, knew how to use toasters perfectly well. But if Tony wasn’t smart enough to deduce they’d figured out how to push one button, he clearly wasn’t that much of a genius after all, and Steve had no pity. As for Thor, the god had shown up in a shower of lightning, swept a startled Bucky into a bone crushing hug, and boomed his approval of a union between two such fine warriors.

            Steve couldn’t be happier.

            And now, here he was, about to spend the first Christmas since he’d woken up that he was excited for. The first Christmas since he’d lost Bucky that _mattered_. Both Bucky and Steve had been like kids in a candy shop, delighted by the gorgeous decorations Tony had the tower decorated in, but insisted they wanted to personally decorate their own floor. And decorate it they had, buying more Christmas paraphernalia than had possibly _existed_ in the forties. Now their floor was a winter wonderland, hand cut snowflakes and white lights decorating each window, lush garlands draped everywhere, scented candles on practically every flat space, festive pillows and throw blankets on all the furniture, and wonderfully handcrafted nut-crackers and wooden Santas decorating the mantle. A stocking for each of them hung over the fire, and unlike the ones Tony had hung in the communal area then proceeded to laugh his ass off over, they did _not_ read Meowing Commando and Star Spangled Soldier.

            Best of all, they’d spent the day at a Christmas tree lot, devoting hours to picking the perfect tree. The two of had dressed for the weather in sweaters and scarves and fuzzy knit hats, and Steve almost hadn’t been able to let Bucky leave the house, he’d looked so damn adorable and poofy. But Steve had managed to restrain himself, and was more glad for it than ever when Bucky had stared up at a beautiful twelve foot pine with all the innocent rapture he’d worn on his features eighty years before. Between the two of them, they’d hauled the giant tree back home, and wrestled it into place in their living room.

            Now, they had the fire place burning, Christmas carols playing, and Bucky was in the kitchen making them hot chocolate to fuel them as they decorated the tree together. Though given the time it was taking, Steve had a sneaking suspicion he’d gotten distracted by the Santa cookie jar, which they’d stocked yesterday after a sugar-filled day of baking. Turns out, Steve who was coming along pretty damn well with his cooking skills, was miserable at baking. Bucky on the other hand, excelled at it. Bucky promised to never mention Steve’s attempts again, if Steve promised Bucky didn’t have to eat any of them in the name of love. Steve thought as far as compromises went, that was pretty fair.

            About to hunt down both his boyfriend and his beverage, Steve fell still when arms wrapped around him from behind. Smile spreading, he turned into the embrace, and raised his hands to cup Bucky’s face, tugging that grin to meet his own. Sinking into the kiss, Steve reluctantly pulled away long minutes later, and licked the taste of sugar and cinnamon from his lips. “You’ve been in the snickerdoodles again.”

            Laughing aloud, Bucky gestured to the tray he’d set on the coffee table, holding two steaming mugs of marshmallow adorned hot chocolates, and a small plate piled high with cookies. “Don’t worry, I brought you some too.”

            Sliding his hand around to the back of Bucky’s neck, feeling the man melt instinctively at the possessive, adoring touch, Steve kissed him deeper, though no less slowly. “You’re so good to me,” he murmured, rubbing their lips together, before stepping back. He had the pleasure of watching Bucky blink, and sway slightly, the smile that came back over his face sweeter, shyer, pleased by the praise.

            “So. Um,” Bucky paused, obviously trying to order his thoughts. “Where to start?”

            “Lights, definitely the lights,” Steve said decisively, and so they began the task of unwinding several sets of lights from their boxes, and then winding them around the tree, voicing aloud their confusion about how they managed to thoroughly tangle the strands between point A and point B. Bucky thought it was a Christmas conspiracy, meant to drive the merriest individual into the mad house. Steve maintained it was a rite of passage – anyone who wanted a pretty tree had to _earn_ it. Regardless, they managed it in the end, Bucky plugging in the cord with a dramatic “Tada!”. Breath catching at how gorgeous the tree looked in lights alone, Steve could not wait to see it decked out in ornaments. Though now that he looked at the boxes and bags full of ornaments surrounding them…

            “We may have gone overboard, Buck. I don’t know if we’re going to get all this on the tree,” Steve mused. Earlier in the week, they’d gone shopping, and delighted by the vast array of ornaments available, they’d clearly gone a bit crazy. They’d stuck to no theme, but rather bought anything and everything that caught their fancy. Which would result in a tree that didn’t have the class of the elegantly decorate trees all throughout the tower, but he thought would look even better. It would look like _them_.  

            “We _will_ get every ornament on this tree. Accept no defeat, soldier!” Bucky decreed, the serious look of intensity one he’d previously reserved for missions alone. Now he wore it more often than not when he was driving Steve out of his mind with pleasure. Seeing it, Steve bit his lip, and willed himself not to get distracted, give in to the temptation to toss Bucky onto the soft, plush rug in front of the fireplace, and having his way with him. His very long, lingering delightful way. And those thoughts were not helping either. Reminding himself how making sweet, adoring love to Bucky would be even better with a fully decorated, beautiful tree in the background, Steve reined himself in, and continued to place their massive collection of ornaments on the tree, using his artist’s eye to space them evenly.

            Trading soft, happy smiles with Bucky whenever their gazes met, they stared to reminisce about Christmas’s past. Remembering the times they’d spent with their families, and each other. How despite the lack of money or presents or fancy food, each holiday had been special – because they’d spent it together. Overwhelmed all over again, Steve pulled Bucky in for a hug, saying a silent prayer of thanks that he would never have to spend another holiday without his soulmate again.

            Finally, though it took some creative positioning, they did just as Bucky had ordered, and managed to fit every last ornament on the tree. They had turned it into the most sparkly, twinkly, festive tree Steve had ever seen. It was perfect. Flushed with happiness, he turned to share the moment with Bucky, then blinked in confusion when he saw Bucky was nowhere to be found.

            “Buck?” Steve called, brow furrowing as he looked around the room. He was used to his lover moving on silent feet, disappearing and re-appearing without a whisper of sound. But where would Bucky have gone? About to call out again, he moved towards the side of the tree Bucky had last been decorating, and nearly stumbled over the messy pile of clothes that lay there. Just catching a glimpse of a fluffy little tail disappearing beneath the tree, a smile tugged over Steve’s face.

            Settling back onto the carpet before the fire, enjoying the warmth of the now low, flickering flames over his skin, he delighted in the tiny swaying motion shivering through the tree even more. Steve laughed aloud when he saw one tiny paw appear from the branches, and bat at a particularly shiny glass ball, clearly unable to resist the temptation, before disappearing once more. At last, triumphant and covered in tinsel, Bucky appeared at the top of the tree, a far more fuzzy and adorable tree topper than the lovely silver star Steve had lifted Bucky up to place on the tree. Bucky had snorted at the motion, yet hadn’t complained, remembering well the many years he’d done exactly that with a much smaller Steve in his hands.

            Catching Bucky reflexively when Bucky made the daring leap from the highest branch into Steve’s arms, Steve cuddled the kitten close, scratching around Bucky’s ears and throat until his purr was one long, loud rumble. Snagging one of the many pillows, Steve stretched out on the floor, and simply basked in the gentle heat of the fire, and the living warmth of Bucky curled up on his chest. Steve knew this was the best Christmas present he could ever have wanted. Curling up with Bucky, no matter what form he wore, was the best gift of all.

            Several days after he’d first reclaimed his human body, Bucky had cuddled up against Steve in bed, and in the gentle softness of the dark, confessed he missed his kitten body. His voice had been quiet, words hesitant, as though he’d feared Steve would judge him for it. Instead, Steve had captured that gorgeous face in his hands, gently tilting Bucky’s chin up until those anxious ice blue eyes met his own.

            “Bucky, I love you for exactly who you are. And while Hydra may have forced that form on you, it’s _yours_ now. Just as much as your arm is,” Steve said, trailing delicate fingers over the metal that he found beautiful, because it was _Bucky_. And there was no part of Bucky he wouldn’t find gorgeous. Long limbed and muscular, or adorably tiny and fuzzy, Bucky was perfect. “You should live your life exactly as you want Buck. And if that means you’d rather spend all your time as the cutest fucking kitten I’ve ever seen in my life, I support you. Although, I am pretty damn partial to kissing you, so I hope you won’t spend _all_ your time as a cat.”

            Steve had been delighted he’d managed to startled a surprised laugh out of Bucky. Who’d then replied in a completely non-verbal manner. But his lips upon Steve left no doubt, he’d understood the sincerity of Steve’s support, and was grateful for it. Since then, Steve curled up with his boyfriend in adorable kitten form nearly as often as gorgeous human form, and he loved it. Truth be told, he’d missed Bucky’s kitten form too, had loved holding that tiny body protectively in his hands, trailing fingers through cloud soft fur.

            When he’d asked Bucky after a transformation - the brunet finally allowing him to witness the change - what he liked the most about it, Steve curious about something he’d never experience himself, Bucky had paused, a blush spreading across his face. Before looking up into Steve’s eyes and stating with a vulnerable honesty that took Steve out at the knees, “I feel _safe_. When I’m with you, when you hold me. It makes me feel like nothing terrible has ever happened, or ever will.”

            Staggered by the sentiment, Steve had hauled Bucky into his arms, stunned that after all that had happened, and the ways he’d let Bucky down, Bucky still believed in him that much. Steve had silently vowed he’d never break that trust.

            Now, as they lay together in silent happiness, he considered a new vow he wanted to make. Stroked his fingers over Bucky’s head, he smiled at Bucky’s renewed purring. “I love you Bucky,” he said softly, adoring the way Bucky kneaded at his chest with tiny paws. “And I’d really love to see you in that tiny cat sweater we saw at the store.” Steve laughed when suddenly the kneading turned into not so friendly claws pricking at him. “But since I get the feeling you don’t like that idea… I do have something else for you to wear.”

            Bucky lifted his head, ears perking up, both parts of him equally intrigued, as curious as the proverbial cat. Answering the wordless question, Steve chuckled. “No, I won’t make you wait until Christmas to have it. Although, it won’t really fit you as a kitten.”

            And just that quickly, Steve found himself blanketed in heavy, sexy, pure human muscle, every part of Steve grateful that Bucky had found when he made the shift of his own free will, it was virtually painless and instant. Yet before he could get distracted by all the beautifully naked skin that gleamed in the firelight, and carry on with his prior plans about having his way with Bucky in the firelight, Bucky dug fingers into Steve’s ribs, expression making it crystal clear he’d carry out the wordless threat to tickle Steve into submission.

            “Give it to me, or deal with my wrath,” Bucky growled playfully.

            “Okay, okay!” Steve said with a laugh, before lifting his free hand, revealing what lay within it. He felt his heart pause when Bucky’s breath simply stopped.

            Staring down at the simple, gleaming gold ring that rest on Steve’s palm, then back into Steve’s eyes, Bucky’s gaze had lost its teasing edge. “Steve-” his voice shook, body trembling slightly as Steve stroked his other hand lovingly down the curve of his spine.

            “Bucky, I promised to never leave you. And I never will. But I want to promise more than that. I want to spend the rest of our lives at your side, not just as your friend, and your lover, but as your husband. I love you Bucky, and promise to never stop. Marry me?”

            Tears slid down Bucky’s face, but Steve thought that might be alright, when his own eyes were bright with them. Tucking his face into Steve’s neck, Bucky choked out a sob. Before he gathered himself enough to suck in a shaking breath. “Yes. Of course. I love you Steve. Yes.”

            Overcome, Steve tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair, tugging until their lips could meet, tasting the joy that coursed through them both. Only once Bucky was grinning in the kiss, joy breaking through the storm of emotions on his face did Steve pull back, to meet that beaming smile with his own. Then he carefully lifted Bucky’s left hand, pressing a delicate kiss to the metal palm, which made the brunet’s breath catch all over again, before sliding the specifically designed ring on his finger.

            “Perfect,” Steve breathed. Yet when Bucky tore his gaze away from the symbol of devotion he’d never dared dream he’d ever wear, he saw Steve wasn’t looking at the gold upon the silver of his hand, but rather staring up into his face.

            “Merry Christmas Bucky,” Steve spoke, the love shining from him a blessing beyond measure.

            “Merry Christmas Steve,” Bucky whispered. Leaning in to kiss Steve once more, he tangled their fingers together, the metal of his ring between them, a beautiful symbol of their love that was every bit as strong. And Steve realized that he had been wrong. This – Bucky promising to be his forever – this was the best gift of all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, the story is complete!!! *cries in mingled joy and sorrow* Me being me, of course I managed to fit my two favorite things in the last chapter - Stucky AND Christmas! I hope you enjoyed this last chapter, to cap of what has been quite a ride! I never expected this idea to become so dear to me. But now that is has, that leads me to my dramatic announcement... 
> 
> There will be sequels! Plot to be determined, but expect plenty more fluff and smut, because after all the angst they've already survived, they deserve all the happiness! That said, any suggestions, ideas, things you'd like to see happen are welcome! I'm definitely open to them. 
> 
> Regardless, thank you for sticking with this feels fest, and if you've enjoyed it all the way through, I'd adore hearing from you!


End file.
